All's Fair
by J-SoL
Summary: In the game of seduction, Katie never loses. But when she finds difficulty in conquering her newest challenge – the chaste and strongly moral Jessie – Katie unexpectedly breaks the game's only rule: Never fall in love.
1. Kathryn Singer

_Author's Note_: If you've seen Cruel Intentions, this is how it's going down: Katie - Sebastian Valmont. Sarah - Kathryn Merteuil. Jessie - Annette Hargrove. Grace - Cecile Caldwell. Eli - Ronald Clifford. Then there are other characters whom you'll meet along the way.

_Author's Note 2_: This is an AU fic. Rick and Lily never met so Grace, Jessie and Eli are not step-siblings. Oh... and everybody is richer therefore bored and arrogant [well, mainly Sarah and Katie on that last part].

_Author's Note 3_: This is my first fanfic ever so I apologize in advance if it sucks so much.

_Feedback_: Greatly appreciated.

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PART I: Kathryn Singer

"_I regret to inform you that..._" Those were the six measly words that brought upon the fall of Kathryn Singer. I had been rejected. For the first time _ever_ in the history of time itself I, Kathryn Singer, have been rejected. Of course, I couldn't let a tragedy of such momentous proportions simply roll off the back. To address said provocation with indifference, like one would at the funeral of a second cousin whom she had met only briefly at one of innumerable aristocratic galas held over Easter holiday, would be down right asinine.

As an uncharacteristic act of a procrastinator, I applied early decision to the seemingly prestigious institution known as Princeton University. Although I loathe school with every fiber of my being, I do not wish to end up as Daddy's little rich girl – an air-headed parasite feeding off the money of others due to her incapability of self-sufficiency and the formation of independent thought; a parasite which plagues the aristocratic society of today.

In a fault of over-confidence, I assured myself that I would gain acceptance to the university, despite my less-than-stellar, non-existent extra-curricular/volunteer record. I hate doing charity [probably as much if not more than I hate school] and sports teams are for fags who are still unsure about their sexual preferences. But I was sure. I was sure that my flawless 4.0 average, practically-perfect SAT scores and the name of Singer alone would be enough to deliver me into acceptance without the help of an edificial purchase. But as I opened the letter enclosed in the infamous small envelope, I knew I would find myself upsettingly mistaken.

As I read the letter over, I tossed the words around in my head. "_I regret...I_" '_Who is this _I_ who addresses me with such vexing condescension?_' I looked to the letterhead to read: Mrs. Barbara D. Reinhardt, Head of Admissions. '_Reinhardt... The name sounds familiar._' I reprimanded myself for not noticing it earlier – Lillian Reinhardt, daughter of Paul and Barbara Reinhardt, a.k.a. the clichéd, vapid cheerleader whore of Upton Sinclair who for some unknown reason, apparent now, succeeded where I had failed. I was rejected under unjust terms and demanded vengeance. '_The nepotistic bitch is going to burn._'

It didn't take long to exact my revenge, seeing how fast Miss Reinhardt can be. All I had to do was humor her with a compliment on her "killer legs" and a flattering request to photograph them; and she was wide-eyed and straddle-legged to the sound of my proposal.

Lillian Reinhardt was the first thing you saw when you logged onto the school's website – there in her ivy-league-bounded glory with nothing but a Princeton banner covering the goods. Of course, the student body reacted as any other jaded American youth would to something that he has seen countless times before. But the students' reactions were not what I was after.

It seems that there are state laws prohibiting the distribution of "harmful material" to those under the age of eighteen. So as expected, the PTA had a conniption fit which I have to admit was most enjoyable. Angry mothers ranted on about the debauchery of their children's innocence when, in reality, the children no longer had any innocence to debauch. It was a beautiful scene to behold – the homemaker mom arguing at school about the protection of her child's innocence while junior stays at home watching scrambled porn as the babysitter fucks her boyfriend in the adjacent room – irony at its best.

Principal Louis felt the threat of legal allegations hanging above his head like the blade of a guillotine ready to fall whenever his white-collared executioners deem so. Not wanting to suffer from a fate similar to that of his namesake, dear Louis got rid of the only person he knew to be guilty.

Lillian Reinhardt, daughter of Paul and Barbara Reinhardt, a.k.a. the clichéd, vapid _ex_-cheerleader whore from Upton Sinclair whose acceptance to Princeton University was nullified due to records of obscene conduct and expulsion. After the scandal, the Reinhardts were exiled from high society – their spotless reputation now plagued by embarrassment and disgrace. The last I've heard, they have relocated to Nevada where Lillian is finally putting her skills to beneficial use. As for mommy, Mrs. Reinhardt stepped down [or, rather, was pushed] from her position as Head of Admissions at Princeton University – a year before retirement; and now works a common, underpaid secretarial job at the not-as-prestigious-institution known as – Hooters.


	2. Sarah Grasso The Mannings

_Author's Note: _The narrative voice changes from Katie to Sarah after the dashes.

_Author's Note 2_: Italicized sentences in ' ' are thoughts.

_Feedback_: Greatly appreciated.****

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PART II: Sarah Grasso / The Mannings

"I can't tell you how happy I am that Grace is going to be attending Upton Sinclair with you this spring," an unfamiliar voice echoed through the corridors of the Grasso household. "I just hope she can rise to the high standards which you've set for her." It belonged to an attractive middle-aged MILF, sitting over-protectively close to her not-as-attractive but doable daughter.

"I'm sure with my guidance and a little faith, Grace will soar above all expectations," said Sarah in a cheery tone that could only rival that of Marcia Brady.

The house was unusually dark for the middle of the afternoon. All the curtains had been drawn closed except for those in the drawing room. Sunlight poured through the windows, illuminating the room like a stage. Sarah sat directly across the two women whom she strategically faced towards the entrance where I was expected to stand. She had invited me over to be her audience – a witness to her new triumph-in-progress.

"Grace, Sarah is one of the most popular girls in school. Listen to whatever she has to say and you'll go far."

'_Yeah – right to an abortionist_.' I couldn't stand the bullshit anymore and decided to turn the play into interactive theater. I just had to wait for my cue to enter.

"You're too kind. But you shouldn't trust someone just because they're popular," instructed Sarah with a hint of foreshadowing.

"Like your friend, Katie," said the MILF par exemple.

'_Ah. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?_'

"Well, Katie is not _that _bad, really. It's mostly gossip and over-exaggeration."

"Even so, I can't believe they didn't expel her after what she did to the school nurse."

"I hear she's recovering quite well." I said as I entered the room right on cue.

------

Katie had a smug grin on her face as she sat herself down next to Grace, uninvited.

"Katie, this is Lily and Grace Manning." I informed her in vain, knowing that she was uninterested in everything but her own pursuits. "Grace is going to join us at Upton Sinclair this spring."

"Outstanding," said Katie contemptuously. "I would introduce myself, but I see that my reputation precedes me."

Katie glared at Lily who grew red with embarrassment. An awkward silence filled the room, only to be broken by another one of Katie's tactful comments.

"My, what an adorable shirt you're wearing," said Katie as she stared at an area just below Grace's neck where a wide-eyed Koala innocently sat.

"Thanks. My father just took me on a trip to Australia."

"And how are things down under?" Katie inquired as she placed a hand on Grace's lap.

Grace had a look of bemusement on her face as Katie leaned in close, her lips almost touching Grace's ear, and seductively whispered, "Blossoming I hope."

Katie gave a little laugh as Grace's body tensed in response. Lily, not finding the hilarity in the debauchery of her child's innocence, stood up immediately, prepared to make a quick exit.

"I think we'll be going now," said Lily as she grabbed her daughter forcefully from Katie's grip.

"Aw, but why?" bemoaned Katie. "I do enjoy your company."

Katie stood up, blocking the two from leaving. She then paused and took a step back to better assess the older woman in front of her.

"You know, Mrs. Manning, you have killer legs," said Katie as she slowly swaggered her way towards Lily.

Lily took a step back, wanting to keep a safe distance between her and the predator that she felt would pounce on her at any moment. However, when she did this, she ungracefully knocked into the side table in back of her, causing one of our many Italian marble statuettes to fall forward.

"I'm so sorry, Sarah," apologized Lily, as if her sniveling would fix the irreplaceable $60,000 antique that lay beside her feet.

"No. That's okay," I say with a smile, trying hard to conceal my annoyance. "It wasn't _that_ valuable."

"Here. Let me get that for you," said Lily in an attempt at redemption. But before she could pick it up, Katie bent down and beat her to it.

As Katie went down, she lingered for a moment – now capable of closer inspection. With her free hand, she ran her fingers slowly up Lily's bare legs that were exposed due to her knee-length skirt. "I would love to photograph you," proposed Katie as she inched her way up.

Lily tensed under Katie's hand, just as her daughter did before, only she had a look of either shock or awe at the audacity of this young woman before her. Either way, she had to take a moment to catch her breath, which she suddenly realized had grown short.

Before Katie could reach under the hem of Lily's skirt, Lily took a firm hold on her daughter's wrist and made a beeline to the exit. I think I heard the words of a thank-you and a courteous good-bye, but they were hardly comprehensible as Lily rudely rushed her way towards the door – her breath still short.

Katie always had to make a scene, especially if it resulted in the foiling of my plans. Life was like a film to her and she always had to make an appearance, no matter what the role.

Katie never did like being the audience – observing in the dark.


	3. The Wager

_Author's Note_: This part continues immediately after PART II with Sarah as the narrator.

_Feedback_: Greatly appreciated.

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PART III: The Wager

"I didn't know it was asshole day at the Grasso house," said Katie as she stood up, still facing the other way. I couldn't see her face but I could hear the sneer forming on her lips. She still held the fallen statuette in her hand and absent-mindedly rubbed its marble bosom.

"Do you know why I invited you here this afternoon?" I asked casually, trying to avoid conflict.

Katie slowly placed her lips upon the statuette before laying it back down to where it once was. She then turned around and faced me with her charming yet deceiving smile – the infamous smile that made countless others drop to their knees.

"I hoped it might be for the pleasure of my company," she haughtily answered.

"I need you," I say in a serious tone, unaffected by her allure.

Katie licked her lips at the sound of the word "need," which she took as an invitation to position herself closer. She placed herself behind me as she wrapped her long, slinky arms around my waist. Meeting no resistance, she trailed soft, wet kisses along my neck before stopping at her destination where she seductively whispered, "I need you too."

I smiled and caressed her face before playfully pushing her away.

"Do you remember when Gavin Gercourt, that elitist son-of-a-bitch, dumped me over the Fourth of July weekend for that clichéd, vapid cheerleader –"

"_Ex_-cheerleader," corrected Katie, making sure I didn't overlook her conquest.

"– _ex_-cheerleader whore, Lillian Reinhardt?"

"How could I not? You only talked about it all summer," she complained before collapsing onto the French Rococo style chaise longue.

"Well that was the first time anyone has ever done that to me. Rejection is such a vengeful feeling... which I'm sure you do remember."

"What's your point?" Katie seethed, annoyed that her failure had entered into the conversation.

"Well, in Lillian's permanent absence, it seems that dear Gercourt has fallen for someone else – the complete anti-thesis of what Lillian represented."

"You don't mean?" Katie asked in mock-surprise.

"None other than pure, naïve Virgin Manning herself."

"Well, fuck me!" scoffed Katie incredulously.

"That's the idea," I pointed out.

Suddenly Katie's interest became genuine.

"I'm listening."

"I need you, Katie," I pleaded as I fell backwards into her arms.

"Just tell me what you need me to do," she whispered as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

"I need you to seduce our young Gracie; introduce her to your world of decadence and debauchery; turn her into the new premier tramp of Upton Sinclair."

"Sounds intriguing," she replied as she slowly traced her kisses with her fingertips – this time going in the direction opposite before.

"Yes. Love and revenge – two of your favorites." I exhaled, barely able to breathe. "She's quite cute you know," I continued while letting Katie's hands roam their way further down. "Young supple breasts...a tight firm ass...uncharted pootie." I paused before saying this last word in order to turn around and stare into Katie's enthrallingly green, mossy eyes. "Be her Captain Picard, Katie," I instructed as I leaned in close and drew her near. "Boldly go...where no man...has gone before." I pulled away every two or three words in order to get the message clear.

Katie was ravenous under my lips. She willfully submitted to my control and I knew that I would hear her agreement at any moment...

"I can't," responded Katie, pulling away.

"What?" I shrieked, frankly shocked at this unexpected outcome.

"Oh come on, Sarah. It's too easy." Katie got up and started for the door. "Why don't you get one of your moron friends to do it? I have my reputation to think of."

"Oh but getting Sinclair's resident slut to spread her legs for you – that's a challenge?" I snickered contemptuously.

Katie paused at the door. She turned around revealing that her smirk, long gone from her face, was replaced by a look of clear annoyance.

"I don't see why you can't do it?" she scoffed.

"Because my dear Katoushka, unlike you, my position in our selective clique is to be the cheery, wholesome Mandy Moore character whom everybody loves."

"So?" retorted Katie coolly.

"So – " I countered in the same cool voice, only tinged with poison. "Over-sexed bitch was already taken."

Expecting a retaliation of great fury, I was surprised to be met, instead, by a bout of great laughter.

"I suppose you want me to explain," offered Katie as her signature smile found its way onto her lips.

"You had better." I demanded, not letting my guard down.

Katie reached into her inner coat pocket and pulled out a folded magazine which she threw unto the table in front of me. I half-expected it to be porn.

"Voila!" she proclaimed as the magazine unfolded to reveal a trivial teen periodical with the new Hollywood "It-girl" gracing the cover – an anorexic beauty-queen whose new-found Hollywood life assured her the promising future of DUI arrests and months in rehab; perhaps even an acquittal of manslaughter charges because only in America is there such a thing as "celebrity immunity."

"Mischa Barton? Ooh, what a challenge." I ridiculed, openly unimpressed.

"Shut up and turn to page 64," she commanded, clearly angered at my derision of the girl who could pass off as her long-lost twin.

Without argument, I turned to the said page.

"A Virgin's Manifesto: Why I Plan to Wait, by Jessie Sammler," I read aloud mockingly.

A disgustingly cute angelic figure shone beneath the title – a blonde girl whose wide-set blue eyes made her look younger than she actually was. Her long golden locks fell just beneath her shoulders in immaculate ringlet curls, adorning her white satin gown; but it was her porcelain white complexion which gave Jessie her ethereal glow.

"Jesus Christ, is she for real?" I scorned, absolutely sickened by this girl's _Hallmark _view on life – chastity until the discovery of true love.

"Oh yes. She's daddy's little angel." said Katie as she knelt before me, feigning prayer. "A paradigm of chastity and virtue."

"So how do you expect to find her?" I asked, deeply uninterested in Mrs. Jesus. "By searching every convent in the country?"

"Why would I go through such extreme measures when I know for a fact that our little angel is going to be joining us this spring?"

"What do you mean by 'us'?" I asked warily.

"You, me... and the entire student body of Upton Sinclair."

"No fucking way!" I said at a volume higher than I expected it to be. "How?!"

"It seemed that Daddy needed a new architect for the Lycos project. The old one fled to Vegas on account of a scandal involving his daughter." Katie gave a knowing look before continuing. "I'm a little blurry on the details – but I _do_ know that a very trusting reference suggested Jessie's father to the old man."

"You didn't."

"The project takes off in two weeks under the new supervision of Rick _Sammler_."

Katie smiled in self-congratulation.

"You conniving bitch," I teased.

"You conniving _over-sexed _bitch," corrected Katie the smart-ass.

She then crawled back to where she had left me before, like a stray cat who only returned to be fed. But I denied her advance, not wanting to satisfy the appetite of this greedy pussy.

"I applaud your success in getting her here," I said as I stood up. "But to have her betray her morals and everything that she's ever believed in for _you_? You don't stand a chance. Even _this_ is out of your league."

I looked down at the arrogant girl beneath me. She narrowed her eyes in a mocking gesture to mirror my own as she stood up to be at level with me. But Katie always stood two inches higher.

"Care to make a wager on that?" she offered, her smug grin never faltering.

I tried to remain eye contact but instinctively I averted my gaze to avoid being caught in my lie –

"Why would I when you have nothing that I want?"

"Surely there has to be something," she whispered, leaning in closer.

As Katie drew near, I felt her breath against my skin – warm and intoxicating – like the flame of the candlelight just before the burn; and as her searing lips were about to touch mine...

I turned away.

"My, you are persistent," I coldly remarked as Katie settled for my cheek.

"Well you know me – never the quitter."

I walked over to the liquor cabinet at the other side of the room and poured myself a glass of absinthe – the forbidden toxin that has been romanticized by great artists such as Picasso and Van Gogh before supposedly driving them insane.

"Yes, well, I'm afraid you have to be leaving now," I announced. "I'm expecting company."

Instantly, Katie's lips curled into a sneer which amused me greatly.

"How _is_ that new lover of yours?" she scorned, obviously displeased by this recent revelation.

"Who?" I asked, feigning ignorance. "Do you mean Christopher?"

"Is that his name?"

"Why Katie, are you jealous?" I teased.

"No..." she answered in complete seriousness. "I'm _extremely_ jealous. Christopher is a moron. He's completely inadequate as a lover."

"What makes you say that?" I inquired, taking a sip of _La Fée Verte_.

"The fact that you have to get liquored up every time he comes over."

I took the glass down from my lips. She was right. Christopher was a sophomore who knew nothing about the art of foreplay and seduction. He promised me "the fuck of a lifetime" countless times before only to disappoint me five minutes later; nevertheless, I kept him around for sizeable reasons.

"Are you telling me that I should break up with Christopher?" I asked, taking up the glass again.

"I'm not telling you to break up with anybody. I'm merely suggesting that you arrange an infidelity with someone more experienced... like _me_ for example."

I paused for a moment to stare into the dregs of my glass before downing its bitter satisfaction.

"All right." I answered casually.

"All right?" asked Katie in disbelief.

"But _after_ you succeed in deflowering our young Jessie."

"Is that all?" mused Katie, over-confident.

"With proof."

"Ah..." Katie found the catch. "What kind of proof?"

"Use your imagination," I devilishly instructed.

Hesitantly, Katie reached out her hand.

"All right... You've got yourself a deal."


	4. Jessie Sammler

_Author's Note_: The dashes mean either a change in narrative or time. I know this might make things a little confusing but hopefully you'll catch on to what's what.

_Feedback:_ Greatly appreciated.

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PART IV: Jessie Sammler

I have broken my vow. The act was involuntary on my part and was forced upon by the other; but I suppose, in the end, I had consented to the "dirty deed" for the idealistic sake of infatuation.

------

On the first day back from a three week holiday in Italy – readily spent skiing the ancient barbarian barrier known as the Alps to sailing off the isolated isle of Sicily – you could imagine my excitement as I returned to the deadening halls of Upton Sinclair and once again stood under its lusterless fluorescent lights.

"It's a pleasure seeing you again," welcome teachers in their patronizing tones as I enter into their classrooms for my daily dosage of brainwash and conformity. I mirror their response without thinking like kicking after the doctor taps a hammer on my knee – it's a natural reflex.

Familiar faces with forgotten names greet me as I walk down these listless corridors. They are the insatiable parasites who feed on my acknowledgement solely to assure themselves of their derisory existence and find justification for why they are what they are. So I do my job as the victim and best try to fulfill their appetites; but their hunger always outweighs my provision; and I am drained. For every word I say is hollow, every smile I make is feigned and no one can be satisfied by these empty things.

------

"Hey Katie!" – a common phrase often heard echoing throughout the halls of Upton Sinclair. Only this time, it followed up with a face and name.

"Stegosaurus boy!" I call out playfully to the one known as Tad Pincus – the typical meathead jock who joins the Gay-Straight Alliance not to develop tolerance but to meet bi-sexual girls – one of my best friends.

"What do _you _want?" I ask, not sure if the contempt in my voice is in jest.

"Katie, this is Jessie."

It was not until then that I realized someone was standing next to Tad or rather – behind him. For it was not due to self-absorbance that I had failed to see Miss Seventeen but because of the contrast between her petite figure and Tad's overbearing size. Otherwise, I surely wouldn't have missed her.

It was unprecedented. When I first beheld Jessie truly, in her presence, I had found that she did not reach my set expectations, but had far exceeded them. She wasn't the porcelain doll, prepped and polished, on display in some commonplace magazine. She was something so much more.

Jessie's eyes had the kind of charm that I don't think I have ever witnessed before. They were filled with such perfect candor – purity unstained; free from the corruptors of prejudice and malice – a trait rarely found amongst the wanton youths of today but most often sought after for the deprivation of. So as I stood there – honestly captivated by the unfailing virtue of this enthrallingly beautiful soul that seemed to radiate before me – I had vowed to myself, right then and there, that I would be the first of my fellow wanton youths to savagely tear this girl apart.

"Hey," I address Jessie in the teenager's typical one-syllable salute – It has become a talent of the teenager to be able to develop the least amount of verbiage possible that translates into something not only comprehensible but profoundly more than what was actually said. It has become such an art that multi-syllabic greetings such as "hello" or "salutations" have been reduced to a simple head nod which contains neither form of syllables nor any word ever uttered at all.

"Have I met you before?" I add, playing dumb.

"No. I don't think so," says Jessie, smiling shyly, not really making eye contact. When she does, she immediately averts her gaze to her feet which shuffle uncomfortably.

"Jessie just transferred here this semester," informs Tad in an attempt to aid the presently reticent Jessie.

"Wow, right in the middle of the school year. It must be hard," I empathize consolingly.

"Yeah. My dad got this new job as the chief architect of some major project downtown. So he moved us all down here."

"And you're okay with that?"

"I don't think any of us were _okay_, but... My dad was so happy." Jessie paused here for a moment, lost in thought. She appeared to be someplace else; sometime else. And as she stood there, smiling to herself, reflecting on that last line, it hit me – Jessie and her family hadn't been happy for a long time. Something had struck them. Some sort of tragedy, unbeknownst to me, had altered their life of contentment. But as curious as I was to know what kind of misfortune befalls an innocent, I am not the one to pry.

"What happened to your mom?"

That was Tad's job.

"What?" Jessie had awoken from her reverie.

"I mean, did she not like have a job?" Tad asked, revising his question.

"No, she has a job," answered Jessie, a bit confused.

"Wait. Has or had?"

"What?"

"Did your mom get a new job?"

"No."

"But she still has a job?"

"Yes."

"Her old job?"

"Yes."

"Even _after_ you guys moved?"

"Yes..."

By this time, Jessie and Tad's faces were so full of bewilderment; someone walking in would have mistaken the two for a couple of Bush impersonators. So I, personally one who does not care for a game of twenty questions nor celebrity impersonations, decided to clarify things.

"I think what Tad is trying to say is: How can your mom maintain her old job when you and your family moved to an entirely different state?"

"Well, because my mom didn't move," answered Jessie as if it was common knowledge. "My parents divorced when I was ten."

"Oh, Jessie, I'm so sorry," replied Tad, realizing what a dumb-ass he had been. "If I had known, I wouldn't have –"

"No. It's okay. It was like what? Six years ago? Don't worry. I'm over it." But the tremble in Jessie's voice and her half-hearted smile gave way to the fact that she definitely was anything but. However, Tad's shift as the insensitive, prying imbecile was over for the day so nobody ever questioned Jessie on her true disposition. In fact, no one ever said anything at all. We three stood there, for a great while, in an awkward silence until finally an outside catalyst revived our dying conversation with a jolt.

WHAM! Someone in an angered rush had unfortunately failed to see Tad's fist when he ran into it. Instantly, papers lay scattered across the floor alongside an inert form before us – our mutual environmental science teacher.

"Oh my god! Dr. Thoreau, I'm so sorry!" said Tad, learning that maybe he should watch where he stretches or at least not flail his arms about when he does so.

"Yes, well," muttered the assaulted science teacher as he staggered to his feet.

"You're not going to fail me are you?"

"Well, Mr. Pincus, if you've finally decided to make an actual appearance this semester, then you have no need to worry."

"Are you sure you're okay?" asked Jessie, genuinely concerned.

"Yes. I'll be quite all right; although I presently find myself in a rather tough predicament," said Dr. Thoreau as he brushed himself off and collected the papers beneath him. Jessie assisted with the latter.

"Well what is it, Dr. T?" asked Tad.

"Maybe we could help," I proposed, not expecting that he'd actually take up on the offer.

"Well, it seems that the five people who have volunteered to help clean Riis Park this Saturday have all mysteriously dropped out," said Dr. Thoreau in a tone revealing that he knew exactly why.

"This Saturday?" Tad contemplated this for a while, which is a rare sight to see. "Oh! That's when Sugarcult is going to be in town to promote their new album. They're going to have a free concert and an autograph signing downtown," said Tad matter-of-factly before he smiled in self-congratulation at his _correct_ answer – another rare sight to see.

"No kidding?" said Dr. Thoreau, blatantly sarcastic. "So now that I find myself with no volunteers, it seems, I may have to go back on that promise I made to the Neighborhood Parks Society."

"Well, we can't let that happen. No one should ever go back on a promise," said Jessie, just short of a "gee-golly." She then turned to me with her wide-set, angelic, blue eyes and desperately sought for my help.

------

I had vowed to myself that I would never do selfless charity [unless it was part of a legal sentence] because – at the risk of sounding melodramatic – I loathe it with every fiber of my being. I would rather choke on my own vomit than clean up the waste belonging to another person. I don't even clean up my own garbage, so why would I clean up after complete strangers for the gracious amount of nothing. It is thoroughly demeaning. However, at that moment when Jessie looked at me with that annoying holier-than-thou bullshit expression on her face, I felt like I couldn't deny her anything. It was rather astonishing – this new feeling she evoked in me. For the first time in my life, I wanted to do something, that _wasn't_ self-beneficial, solely to please this one, singular person.

------

I have broken my vow. The act was involuntary on my part and was forced upon by the other; but I suppose, in the end, one is exempted to break promises when it is for the idealistic sake of infatuation. Even if it means cleaning up somebody else's mess.


	5. Saturday Night Fervor

_Author's Note: _This part centers more on Eli/Grace than Jessie/Katie.

_Author's Note 2_: The dashes mean either a change in narrative or time. I know this might make things a little confusing but hopefully you'll catch on to what's what.

_Author's Note 3_: The lines in italics are the lyrics to "She's the Blade" by Sugarcult. They're there for two reasons: (1) To provide breaks in the chapter. (2) I thought it would be a good song to play in the background. It's almost like Sarah's theme song because it characterizes her so well. It also foreshadows what happens later in the story.

_Feedback_: Greatly appreciated. ****

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PART V: **Saturday Night Fervor**

_Don't you make a move tonight. / You can only stagger._

Grace and I enter the downtown club. Instantly, the smell of sweat and sin bombard my lungs. There is a huddled mass at the center of the room. The people move together but nothing is in sync – only their focus. The band stands above them on an elevated stage. They are bathed in artificial light while everyone else looks on in the shadows. They are gods – just for the moment.

"Wow. They're really good," comments Grace in an attempt to win my favor.

"What?"

I wasn't paying her much attention.

"The band..." Grace clarifies.

"Oh. Yeah. They're great," I respond, a bit distracted.

I search the crowd for the particular reason why I came here.

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_Once she's got you in her sight. / You're the one she's after._

"Eli!" I called out to an expected face at the other side of the room. "Come here a second."

'_Cause she's the blade and you're just paper._

Since Katie isn't going to help me debauch this girl, I am determined to find somebody else to do it – wittingly or not.

_You're afraid 'cause she's got closer._

Revenge became my only want, if not need. And if Katie wants to fuck away a valuable Saturday "healing the world" with Mrs. Jesus then I say, "Cheers." I am perfectly capable of procuring my vengeance without her.

_You're backsteppin' and she's backstabbin' everything in your life._

"Grace, this is Eli Sammler." I said, introducing the two for the first time.

At first sight of him, Grace froze conspicuously. Thirty seconds passed and she still stood there – mouth agape.

"Is she okay?" asked Eli, concerned and a little frightened.

"Yeah. She's just shy," I answered coolly.

"You know, Eli, you and Grace have a lot in common." I began, trying to start a conversation between the two.

"Like?" asked Eli with a tone of doubt.

"Like..."

I paused to see if Grace would answer but she remained comatose.

"You've both just moved here recently..." I added lamely.

"Oh yeah?" humored Eli. "Where from?"

[Now here is when Grace finally says something, which is a step, but whether it is a step up or a step down from not saying anything at all is debatable.]

Grace opened her mouth to reply. Noise came out, but it didn't form into complete, comprehensible sentences. Instead, she made a high-pitched, inhuman sound which was like the mating call of a seal that inhaled too much helium.

"Are you sure she's all right?" asked Eli, now more frightened than concerned.

"Of course she's all right," I said, trying to convince myself more than Eli.

I looked to Grace and signaled her to say something.

"Grace, say something."

"Hi. I'm Grace!" she exclaims which is fine – if it had been said about two minutes ago – but now it runs along the lines of slight insanity.

"See? She's perfectly fine."

I tried to reassure Eli with a smile but I think it only furthered his fear.

"Okay..." said Eli, slowly backing away. "It's been nice meeting you, _Grace_. But...uh...I think my friends are calling me. I have to go. Sorry."

_She stole everything your heart desired. / Now you want it back._

"Wait. Eli..." pleaded Grace, in a little over a whisper.

Eli stopped dead in his tracks. He was probably as surprised as I was to hear Grace finally speak something intelligible – at least for her standards.

"What is it?" asked Eli, newly intrigued.

"I don't know..." responded Grace sheepishly. "I haven't thought that far through yet."

Eli must've thought that what Grace had said was something clever because he began to chuckle, which made Grace smile.

"You know, you have a really pretty smile," remarked Eli as he brushed away a loose strand of hair from Grace's face.

The whole scene deserved an eye-roll; it was so sickeningly cute. I half-expected a dulcet choir of pretty, little birdies to appear out of nowhere and begin to sing Carpenters songs.

_One by one you count the fights. / Does it even matter?_

"Hey, Eli, are you still looking for a job?" I asked, knocking Eli off of his hypothetical cloud which was clearly made out of hypothetical cotton candy.

"Yeah...Why?"

"Well, Grace, didn't you mention how you've always wanted to learn how to play the guitar?"

"I did?" asked Grace with genuine stupidity.

"Yes, Grace. Don't you _remember_?"

I gave Grace a slight jolt to her memory – which is, oddly enough, located in her ribs.

"Ow–f course! I _did_," said Grace, her memory miraculously regained.

"And, Eli, don't you _play_ the guitar?"

"Yeah..." answered Eli warily, following where this was going.

"So why doesn't Grace pay you for guitar lessons?" I casually suggested.

Grace's face lit up at the sound of the proposal but feigned seriousness when Eli looked back at her for her opinion.

"It's okay with me," said Grace nonchalantly, trying to hold back her excitement.  
"I don't know..." said Eli, a bit hesitant.

Obviously, the boy needed a little incentive.

"C'mon, Eli..." I whispered, moving close enough for him to feel my breath against his skin. "Is it really that _hard_?" I placed my hand against his chest and felt my way further down. "A young, experienced man like yourself... I'm sure Grace can learn _a lot_." I reached into his pants pocket and grabbed for his – wallet. I took it out and assessed its contents.

"Just as I thought..." I said, smiling mischievously at what I had found. I pulled it out slowly for all to see. "Ribbed – for her pleasure. Why, Eli, you _do_ care." I snickered at him derisively before returning the item to its place and closed up the wallet.

Grace's face was redder than Eli's.

"Now, Eli, unless we started using prophylactics as currency, I suggest you take the job."

_Now she's got you by surprise. / Misery's your master._

I held out the wallet and signaled him to take it. He snatched it back and placed it into his hind pocket.

"Fine...I'll do it," surrendered Eli.

"That's a good boy..." I whispered, patting Eli on the head. "I'll have Grace call you and inform you on the –" I looked down beneath his belt buckle before continuing, "_minor_ details."

I smiled at the ease of Eli's subjugation.

"À la prochaine..."

_She stole everything your heart desired. / Now you want it back._

"Let's go, Grace."

Without question, she followed me like a mindless dog, leaving Eli to stand alone.

"Oh, and Eli..." I said, stopping midway to the exit. "Don't keep condoms in your wallet. It's terrible for the latex."

_She stole everything. / She controlled everything._


	6. Refuse and Revelations

_Author's Note: _This is my longest part yet... It came out to nine pages on Word. 

_Author's Note 2_: The dashes symbolize either a change in time or narrative voice.

_Author's Note 3: _Italicized words in ' ' are thoughts.

_Author's Note 4_: It might be a while till I write my next part since I'm starting college soon... So I really hope you guys enjoy this one.

_Feedback_: Greatly appreciated.

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**PART VI: Refuse and Revelations**

It was a cloudless sky, and the sun hung high above my head like the ax of an executioner, who held it steady in place to prolong my suffering – as if the task at hand wasn't enough. Bottles, cans and other varied garbage littered the floor for, what seemed to be, miles. If I did manage to miraculously clean up the refuse, it was undoubtedly certain – due to contemporary man's inherent indolence – the park would revert to its landfill guise. Like Sisyphus, I was doomed to a never-ending task whose only purpose was punishment – but at least I had company.

"Hey…" I said, greeting Jessie who seemed to have arrived at the park sometime earlier than I had, for the garbage bag which she daintily carried was already half-full.

"Hey!" she said, a bit relieved. "I was worried you weren't going to show."

"Are you kidding?" I said, faking a smile which Jessie genuinely returned. "On a nice day like this…who wouldn't want to go to the park –" As soon as she turned around, my smile faded. "– to pick up other people's garbage…"

"Yeah…It's kind of hot though –," she said turning to me once more, not hearing that last part or perhaps ignoring it. "– considering it's still February."

"That's global warming for you…"

I picked up an aerosol can of computer duster that lay by the merry-go-round.

"What's that doing there?" asked Jessie, coming closer for better inspection.

"Are you serious?" I could not believe Jessie was that naïve.

She looked up at me and opened her mouth to say something, but as soon as she looked into my eyes she turned bright red and averted her gaze. I guess she was embarrassed of her ignorance.

"It's the poor man's drug," I answered informatively, holding up the can. "A great inhalant for only $3.98 at your local Office Max!" I announced in my best infomercial voice but Jessie wasn't very amused. She looked at me like my father did after I told him since Princeton didn't work out, I could always blow off business and go to Brown to become an English Lit major… Basically, it was a look that said, "That's not very funny…"

I smiled at Jessie and handed her the can. When she took it from me, our fingers touched and for a moment there was that awkward feeling… that feeling you get when you touch a stranger's bare skin. It's the ultimate invasion of personal space, and I guess that's why it's so awkward. For someone to get so close to you whom you barely even know, it's weird.

I pulled my hand back as soon as Jessie took hold of the can. I thought she would be offended by my sudden repellence from her, but instead she kindly smiled and placed the can into her garbage bag which lay a few feet away.

"You know, people come here all the time to get high," I explained.

"At a children's playground? That's sick," she dispraised.

"Is it?" I asked rhetorically. "Yes, the act of doing drugs is immoral, but when it is committed at a place which is incongruous with immorality the act becomes something ironically beautiful."

Jessie raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

"Well, beautiful or not…I wouldn't do it."

"Why not?" I asked indifferently.

"Because it's wrong," she strongly stated.

"What makes it wrong?" I asked, still unemotional.

"Well…" Jessie paused to think this through. "Like you said yourself – it's immoral."

"Oh, I see…So just because something is immoral, it is automatically wrong?"

"Yes," answered Jessie as if it was common knowledge.

"Well, some people think that gay marriage is immoral. Does that mean it's wrong?"

"No…"

"_No_?" I asked, feigning shock. "But you just said immorality is synonymous with wrongness."

"But gay marriage isn't immoral."

"Well, the President seems to think so. I mean, he tried to pass an amendment banning it from the country so it _must_ be wrong."

"The immorality of some acts is debatable, but that of doing drugs is certain," reasoned Jessie.

"Why?" I challenged. "What makes the immorality of doing drugs certain and gay marriage not?"

"Because drugs can kill you!" yelled Jessie, finally reaching her limits.

"And marriage can't?" I asked coolly with a devious smile. This caused Jessie's frustration to intensify which showed in her narrowing eyes.

The expression was one I often received, especially from my mother whenher prescription for Prozac runs out and from Sarah when… well, just from Sarah. It was the wordlessly articulate squinty-eyed look that said, "You are starting to irk me, Kathryn Singer, and I will gladly burn your head off if you do not desist – as soon as I figure out how to shoot these damn lasers out my eyes…" but Jessie's was more endearing than threatening.

"Immorality isn't what judges whether something is wrong or not." I reproved. "It's people…"

Jessie traded in her frustration for wonder as she stared at me intently.

"Wrongness is subjective," I continued. "What one person thinks is right could be considered to be wrong by another. And vice-versa…Everything depends on matter of opinion. And, in that respect, we will _always_ be wrong."

"It's a paradox…" she stated, finally comprehending my point.

"Exactly."

I smiled. It was the first time somebody actually _got_ me.

"Whoa…That's deep, man," said Jessie like a drugged-up hippie. "You came up with that all by yourself?"

"No…I think I read it in Vogue somewhere," I joked.

Jessie furrowed her brow then began to laugh. Her smile was warm and kind and so eloquently naïve…It was much different from what I had always known. It wasn't a façade to be put on display; a veil to shroud ulterior motives. It was just a smile – as simple as that. And maybe that is why I was so intrigued by it.

"Speaking of tedious periodicals," I continued as I averted my gaze from Jessie's mouth which deterred my focus. "I read your manifesto."

"Oh yeah?" said Jessie, a little surprised. "What'd you think?"

I composed myself and returned to a disposition of indifference.

"Truthfully, I found it rather appalling," I disdainfully replied.

"That's a first," said Jessie, who seemed confused by the sudden change in my demeanor. "Most people praise me for it."

"Most people are sheep…Who are you to knock what you've never experienced?"

"I'm not knocking anything," clarified Jessie. "It's just my belief that people shouldn't actually experience the act of love until they are _in_ love and that people our age are too immature to be in touch with those emotions. I don't think…"

"No. You _do _think and that's the problem," I snapped.

"Sorry for having independent thoughts."

"No. That's not what I meant…Haven't you ever done something without analyzing every minute detail…without worrying about its consequences or whether it's right or wrong…and just doing it simply because – you feel like it?"

"That sounds completely irresponsible."

"It's what teenagers do best…" I said with a grin of assurance. "You say we're too immature, but it is precisely at this age when we are in touch with 'those emotions' – so much so that it's unbearable. Everything is intensified when you're a teenager. We're at that middle point of growing up when we're beginning to develop new adult desires for love and sex while still possessing the child's lack of restraint…Falling in love is inevitable."

"Did you pick that up from Vogue too?" teased Jessie.

"Haha…"

I rolled my eyes, not appreciating the derision of my point.

"I have a question." stated Jessie.

"Oh?" I asked, not surprised.

"Yes…_Oh_. You think you're the only one who has the questions around here?" asked Jessie jokingly. "I know you're rich but I don't think you're wealthy enough to monopolize the world's supply of questions."

"Just wait till I turn 21…" I replied a bit pretentiously.

"My question _is_ –" continued Jessie, ignoring my arrogance. "Haven't you ever done something without taking yourself so seriously?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're always so tense and defensive…"

"I am not!" I retorted.

Jessie laughed at the irony of my response.

"You need to lighten up," she advised.

"I am lighten! Can we drop this?"

Angrily, I sat on the merry-go-round by which I had found the can of computer duster.

"Fine…" surrendered Jessie, taking a seat beside me.

The place reeked of alcohol and cannabis. It no longer was a site of innocence, but a perverse incarnation of its former self. The blood-red paint had already faded; the iron bars were rusted and worn. Children no longer played here. It was a paradise lost to the trials of untimely corruption and premature disillusionment…And Jessie willingly followed.

"You know you don't strike me as someone who reads Seventeen."

"What?" I asked, confused by the randomness of her comment.

"My manifesto…It was in Seventeen," clarified Jessie.

"Oh…Well, I don't usually read it," I explained. "It was just that…I had to go to the doctor, and it was the only magazine in the waiting room so –"

"Why'd you have to go to the doctor?"

"Well…uh…I had laryngitis. My throat was inflamed and all mucus-y…It was very serious…almost fatal, even," I embellished for dramatic effect.

"Well, I'm glad that you were able to read my manifesto while in such a troubling state of _near death_."

I guess Jessie wasn't as naïve as I had made her out to be.

"All right. I admit it." I said, raising my hands up as if she had caught me. "I have a subscription to Seventeen as well as many other magazines possessing the word 'teen' as the suffix and/or prefix of its title…But they're strictly for educational purposes.

I mean, they provide you with such vital information necessary in life like what is Hilary Duff's favorite lip gloss and why Legolas is such a hottie," I added sarcastically.

"Lancôme Juicy Tubes and…the pointy ears did it for me."

"What?" I asked, again confused by Jessie's randomness.

"Hilary Duff's favorite lip gloss…It's Lancôme Juicy Tubes. And the reason Legolas is so hot…Well, I always thought that pointy ears were a strong sign of virility…Very attractive."

"You can't be serious…"

"Ohh yeah…When I was little, I had the _hugest _crush on Spock…"

The thought of a little blonde girl swooning over a middle-aged man with fake plastic ears glued to his head seemed rather funny, I have to admit.

"Why, Katie, are you actually laughing?" asked Jessie in mock-surprise.

"No…" I answered, keeping a straight face.

"_No_?" asked Jessie like a mother who knows that her child is lying.

"Nope," I said, reaffirming the fact that I definitely did _not_ laugh.

"All right…" said Jessie, apparently dropping the subject.

But five seconds later…

"You know, you shouldn't mock the hotness of pointy ears," reproved Jessie jokingly.

"Oh yeah? Well, why not?" I asked, playing along. "Give me one reason you find them to be so hot."

"They give you something to grab on to…" said Jessie with a suggestive smile.

This time I couldn't deny it. Jessie had made me laugh. And – I know this makes me sound like I was a compassionless bitch – it was the first time that it _wasn't_ at the expense of her pain or anybody else's.

"It's okay. You can laugh…" said Jessie, lowering her voice to a whisper. "I promise I won't tell anyone."

Gently, Jessie's smile found its way onto her lips. It drew me in with its blush-red allure, asking me to inspect it closer. For something so simple, it had its intricacies – which fascinated me. And when her smile disappeared into her lips as quickly as it came, I became conscious of the shortening distance between Jessie's lips and mine. Her breath felt warm as it lightly brushed against my skin and grew shallower with every inch I took. I closed my eyes, accepting that there was no turning back…

"HEY, KATIE, IS THAT YOU?!" boomed an obnoxiously loud voice from, what seemed to be, the other side of the park.

I quickly turned my head which was just _centimeters _away from Jessie's to see an oafish Tad stomping down the gravel path as if attempting to pave it.

"See, I told you she'd be here," bragged Tad, happy that he was actually right, which is a rarity.

"So, I see…" said Sarah, appearing out of nowhere.

After Sarah, Russell appeared from behind Tad. And then I realized that they hadn't materialized out of thin air…just emerged from a hidden portal located in Tad's back.

I got up to greet the three.

"What the hell are you guys doing here?" I asked, angry that they had interrupted… things.

"Well, hello to you too, darling," said Sarah mockingly.

"Us? What the hell are _you _doing here?" asked Tad, turning the tables.

"What I said I was going to do! You were there…"

"Yeah, but I didn't think you'd actually go through with it. When was the last time you actually did charity work – without it being part of a legal sentence?"

"Well…I…" I stammered, for the first time, unable to explain myself – not even with lies.

"What's going on?" asked Jessie, joining the conversation – which could only lead to no good.

"Jessie, you know Tad…" I said, grudgingly beginning the introductions. "Well, this is Russell…And that's –"

"Hi, I'm Sarah," said the girl with the devilish grin, reaching out her hand as if to seal a bargain with Jessie for her soul.

Reluctantly, Jessie shook Sarah's hand.

"Yeah, I know you…" stated Sarah. "I've heard _a lot_ about you…"

"Oh yeah?" asked Jessie, taken aback. "From who?"

Sarah looked over at me before answering.

"From Tad…You're the new girl, right?"

"Yeah…" admitted Jessie, a bit embarrassed.

"Well, it was nice meeting you." said Sarah in her faux Marcia Brady tone.

"C'mon, Katie! The Sugarcult concert is in two hours and we still have to pick up another person," whined Tad. "We have to leave now if we want to get good seats. You know – the ones next to some drunk girl with big breasts, a tight shirt and loose morals."

"Speak for yourself," chided Russell.

"Oh yeah, and a gay guy for Russell," added Tad.

"Man, shut up!" rebuked Russell, punching Tad in the arm.

"No, guys, I'm not going," I explained to them slowly, so that maybe this time they'd understand. "I promised that I'd volunteer here."

"What are you talking about, Singer?" asked Russell, whose turn it apparently was to ruin things. "What happened to that 'vow of abstinence from selfless charity' bullshit?"

"I–I just…"

I faltered a second time. But, this time around, something was different…

_'Jessie is still standing here…? God, she's still standing here! WHY IS SHE STILL STANDING HERE; GODDAMMIT?!' _

I froze…which is weird considering Jessie's eyes were practically searing the flesh off my bones. I guess she finally figured out how to get those damn lasers to work.

I looked around to possibly befall upon the reconciling words able to release me from such an unsolicited position. Instead, there was Sarah…

"You know Katie can't abstain from anything – especially when a helpless blonde is involved…"

Sarah looked over at Jessie. She stared at her for a long while, seemingly sizing her up. Did she feel threatened by this wisp of a girl?

Sarah then turned to me and cupped my face in her hand.

"Farewell, my dear, sweet Kathryn."

She leaned in to kiss my lips; but I turned my head, unwilling. She settled for my cheek instead.

"Let's go, boys," ordered Sarah, and then the three were gone.

Again, Jessie and I were alone in the silence. I didn't want to say anything because, I hoped, if I hadn't and simply stood still then time would stand with me…But time isn't such a faithful companion.

"You're Kathryn Singer?" asked Jessie as if she did not want to believe it.

At that moment, I didn't want to believe it either.

"Yes," I answered, almost inaudible.

"I've heard about you…" began Jessie, her voice a little shaken.

"Well, I didn't know that it was you _exactly_… Not at first… I mean, I know who you are… Well, at least I thought I did… But now… I don't know… You're… _You_," ranted Jessie, overwhelmed by newly-arisen questions whirling around in her head.

"And I…" continued Jessie. "I almost…"

Tears began to fall from Jessie's sullen eyes. It was like her mind was so flooded with these drowning thoughts that it began to overflow.

"What have you heard?" I asked hesitantly.

I was sure of the answer, but I wanted Jessie to say something…anything to drown out the deafening silence.

Jessie surfaced from her thoughts and cleared the tears from her eyes. She now stood resolutely with a strong, solemn gaze.

"How you've promised several girls the world just so you could get them in bed with you…"

"Who told you that?" I asked, desperately wanting to know so I could seek the snitching bastard out and inflict upon him excruciating pain.

"Is it true?" asked Jessie, avoiding my question.

Jessie looked up at me; and, this time, she didn't turn away.

"No," I replied, finally telling the truth…

"I didn't have to promise them anything."

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It was a cloudless sky, and the sun hung high above my head like the ax of an executioner, who held it steady in place to prolong my suffering. Then, when the time came for it to fall upon me, I welcomed it with open arms as my weary head was laid down to rest.


	7. In the Plainness of Black and White

_Author's Note: _Whoa, it's been three months since my last part due to the hindrances of college and responsibility (bleh!), but here it is at long last (better late than never!); and I really hope that you people enjoy reading it as much as I did finally writing it (especially after I had to write all those boring papers).

_Author's Note 2_: The narrartive voice changes from Katie to Sarah after the dashes.

_Author's Note 3_: The views expressed by the characters do not necessarily reflect those of the author.

_Feedback_: Greatly appreciated. The more feedback I get, the more I will be motivated to write! So if I don't receive any, I'll take that as a sign that I suck and that I shouldn't write anymore...

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PART VII: In the Plainness of Black and White

The day after the incident at the park, it rained. For hours it poured ceaselessly from the depressingly grey sky, and I stood there, unmoving, soaking it all in. My clothes were drenched in the cold rain-water and clung to my body heavily; suddenly the burden to hide myself became greater than I could stand. I fell to my knees and bowed my head for its weighty thoughts that grew and multiplied within their grave environs had grown too onerous for any one to bear. And as the rain, redeeming to the sinner's touch, fell benevolently from the heaven upon my tired body, one thought of the many rose into clarity… I hate outdoor charity events.

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"I heard it rained during your mom's fashion show slash fund-raiser yesterday," I said before taking a seat on Katie's bed. It was ridiculously huge for one person to occupy, especially one as thin as Katie, and was superfluously decorated with every adornment imaginable – from the purest white goose down pillows and sheets of the finest imported Parisian linen to the meticulously hand-embroidered boudoir shams and the ruffled echelle, hemstitched pettiskirt as lavish and unnecessary as it sounds. However, I must admit, my bed is proudly larger and greatly more superfluous.

"Yeah," sighed Katie as she lay across the bed, fully extended, yet not even her feet dangled off the edge. She was sketching in her leather-bound drawing book, which was a common daily activity of hers, and was so engulfed in the act during our conversation that she never looked up once, not even while she spoke.

"Another one of her attempts to appear sane and ubiquitously charitable that went down the proverbial drain," added Katie who took great pleasure in this statement.

"What was it called again?" I asked, bleakly remembering that it was a title of ill-used alliteration often attached to well-meant functions that undoubtedly attracted unwanted grievances.

"Prada in the Park for Paraplegic People with Postpartum Psychosis," replied Katie amazingly in one breath with neither hesitation nor pause in her action.

"God…That must've been fun," I sarcastically remarked with intentions of sympathy.

"Oh, it was," said Katie with genuine contentment, regret not present in her voice. "Especially when my mother found out that I ruined an $8,000 silk chiffon Prada evening gown on loan. She had a conniption fit complete with spastic Tourettes."

Katie devilishly grinned at the reminiscence of this self-gratifying image. It was the kind that would have curled at the ends, like the Grinch's before he attempted to steal Christmas, had she been a cartoon character. I knew, internally Katie was patting herself on the back; for the one thing that she lived for, besides seducing for sport, was torturing her mother. Katie hated her mother _almost_ as much as she loved herself, which is a bit of a relief; because if Katie had hated her mother exactly as much as she loved herself, her mother would be dead by now.

"Sorry I missed it," I said, regretting that I had passed on a chance to witness the laughable-sounding image.

"Mmhm," said Katie, distracted. She was still intensely focused on her drawing, which she now took an eraser to in order to gently remove the stray marks that dared to defy her ideal vision. I could not clearly see exactly what she was depicting because I was far at the side of her; and I had not the courage to peer over her shoulder for fear of her leaving due to my invasion of the artist's understood privacy between her and her unfinished work. So, instead, I opted for a tangent that we both would be interested in going off on.

"So how's progress going with Mrs. Jesus?"

"What do you mean?" asked Katie, still furiously sketching upon the disappearing white of her paper.

"Fuck her yet?"

Instantly the point of Katie's pencil broke.

"I'm working on it."

Katie assessed the tip of her pencil. Deeming it useless, she discarded the barely-used instrument towards the direction of the wastebasket, not caring if it reached its proper destination or not. Katie did not own a sharpener; for who needs a sharpener when you have hundreds of replacements on hand?

"Loser," I said teasingly to Katie as she got up from her bed.

She walked to the bureau at the other side of the room to fetch another one of her easily expendable, highly priced Parisian drawing pencils kept in a delicately white wooden box on the top left-hand shelf; but not before she made sure to close her drawing book so that wandering eyes would be unable to 'accidentally' stumble upon her incomplete expression of her inner soul.

"Blow me," reviled Katie as she carefully selected the one best of the many pencils at her disposal, which were all highly adequate, to carelessly use for her selfish wants.

"Oh, you charmer, you always know what to say to make a girl feel loved," I teased with a melodramatic hand on my heart. "How ever did dear Miss Seventeen Magazine manage to keep her pants on?"

"Oh…" began Katie as she closed the white box and walked back to her bed. "I bet her indestructible chastity belt forged from titanium steel helped to hold it up, along with the hands of God."

I smirked at the mental image that Katie's comment brought to my depraved mind.

"Oh, so that's why Bush is still president," I mused. "God was so busy with his hands wrapped around the waist of a 16 year old girl; he forgot to give the people of Ohio brains."

Katie snickered at my wry derision before opening her drawing book once again.

"So I presume your bullshit 'heal the world' act didn't pan out the way you wanted it to," I said as I picked up the book on Katie's bedside table. The title read _Of Human Bondage_ by W. Somerset Maugham.

"No. She cried."

"She cried?!" I ejaculated with both amusement and surprise. "Jesus, Katie, you're losing your touch. Usually the girl cries _after_ you fuck her."

"Shut up! I told you I'm working on it," said Katie defensively. "It's just that some asshole told Jessie about my past indiscretions and –"

"And her poor innocent wittle heart couldn't take it? Aww," I teased in a mocking baby-voice.

"You sound like Elmer Fudd," derided Katie.

Shocked at my being compared to a dim-witted dupe with a lightbulb head, I hurled the 565 paged text at Katie's head but unfortunately missed; and it landed on the floor with a loud thud.

"Whoa!" exclaimed Katie in reaction to her near brush with death. "You do not use good literature as a weapon," she scolded with a shaking finger. "Especially not a hardcover one! You could've killed me!"

Katie got up to retrieve the discarded book.

"Couldn't you have at least used Paris Hilton's book?" suggested Katie as she placed the novel into a bookcase adjacent to the bureau. "It's not as thick and it's a lot less death-inducing… Wait. I take that back."

Katie smiled in reflection of her joke before bringing up another subject.

"Speaking of witless socialites," she began, jumping back onto the bed. "How _are_ things with Grace?"

"Great," I boasted, proudly sitting up straight with an upturned nose. "I introduced her to this guy on Saturday, and she hasn't shut up about him since – not that _that's_ necessarily great – but if I get my way, which I always do… 99 percent of the time, Gavin will find out that his Virgin Manning is tainted goods and his poor elitist heart will be broken. Boo-hoo."

"And then who will he turn to for consolation?" asked Katie with mock sympathy and a cute, melodramatic pout.

I smiled wickedly at the image of Gavin crawling back to me on his hands and knees upon sharp stones and jagged shards of glass.

"Then _I'll_ be the one to dump the bastard," I said with malicious relish and fervent anticipation.

"Now point your fingers together and say 'Excellent,'" mocked Katie before she sprawled across the wide bed once more.

"Haha…" I replied, not amused. "What's with you lately?"

"What do you mean?" asked Katie, propping her head up with her elbow.

"I don't know…" I said, not able to find the words to explain it. "Your newly developed sense of humor; how you're mysteriously lacking that fifteen foot pole up your ass…"

"Hey!" yelled Katie, seemingly enraged. "I did not have a fifteen foot pole up my ass! You're exaggerating… It was two, at the most."

"See; that's what I'm talking about," I pointed out, bewildered by Katie's present demeanor.

Then I finally saw the unfamiliar smile upon Katie's lips that I had failed to see before. It was absent of her usual malevolent charm that devilishly attracted others to her. Instead, it radiated with something incomprehensible – a blinding brilliance filled with detestable candor; purity vilely unstained. It was then that I discovered the unwanted truth that I had subconsciously blinded myself from before.

"She's really getting to you, isn't she?"

"Who?"

"Oh, c'mon…" I said, not believing Katie could be this unaware.

"Don't 'oh c'mon' me. Tell me who?" pleaded Katie, with growing desperation in her voice.

"Jessie!" I finally blurted out, exasperated by Katie's current stupidity.

"Jessie?!" asked Katie with a snicker of disbelief, supposing that my remark was in jest.

"Yes! Jessie!" I angrily shouted _her_ name a second time. I hated saying her name. The mere sound of it offended me. "The girl is changing you, and you don't even realize it…"

Katie stared at me for a while, taking time to deeply consider the words that I had said. She studied the expression of my solemn eyes and found the gravity in them. Not satisfied with what I had, she turned away.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Katie, walking over to her bureau once again. She leant forward on the edge, grasping it tightly.

"What's ridiculous, dear Kathryn, is you," I countered. "You're obviously infatuated with her!"

"I am _not _infatuated with her," denied Katie, sounding as if she was trying to convince herself more than me.

"Oh?" I reasoned, unconvinced. "Then why would you agree to debase yourself by picking up other people's garbage for _charity_?"

"Because…" began Katie as she turned from the bureau with a failingly reassuring smile. "It was merely tact; a stratagem for me to get closer to Jessie, so I can win our bet."

"Oh, okay… So, acting like a bumbling idiot, was that a part of your plan too?"

"Well…I-I was just…" stuttered Katie, sickeningly unable to explain herself.

"Y-you were just what?" I flew from the bed and walked towards Katie impassionedly. "God, I can't believe it… Kathryn Singer, the master of rhetoric and lies, brought down by Miss Mary Sunshine! The girl merely looks at you, and you become this fool who dribbles and drones…"

"Shut up," demanded Katie, with intense fury building within.

"Admit it!" I demanded with seething anger. "Jessie asked you to help her do charity work at the park, and you agreed to help, not because you wanted to win our bet, but because the girl has got you whipped!"

"SHUT UP!"

Incensed, Katie grabbed me by my shoulders and hurled me unto the wall with such great force that the sound of the collision echoed throughout the room. Katie stormed towards me with fiery malice in her eyes and pinned me hard against the wall. For the first time, I was actually terrified.

"She means nothing to me!" roared Katie, looking me feverishly in the eyes. And then with heated ardor she kissed me with searing lips and burned my doubt to ashes.

"Nothing has changed…" she whispered, her breath still hot with anger. "Nothing."

Katie then blazed to the exit and slammed the door shut with a thunderous clap, leaving me to stand alone with her kiss still branded upon my lips.

I fell to my knees, overwhelmed by Katie's force, which still largely hung about the room. It was at that time, when I was catching my breath, that I saw, only a few feet away, Katie's forgotten drawing book. In her angered rush, she had carelessly left it open, unintentionally welcoming others to peer into her soul. So with ill curiosity, that infects the mind like a plague, I accepted the open invitation. But as I stood over the drawing book, I became riddled with regret. For before my self I saw, in the plainness of black and white, a portrait of a girl, whose name I'd hate to say.


	8. Much Ado About Everything

_Author's Note: _Whoa, it's been three months since my last part due to the hindrances of college and responsibility (bleh!), but here it is at long last (better late than never!); and I really hope that you people enjoy reading it as much as I did finally writing it (especially after I had to write all those boring papers). 

_Author's Note 2_: The narrartive voice changes from Katie to Sarah after the dashes.

_Author's Note 3_: The views expressed by the characters do not necessarily reflect those of the author.

_Feedback_: Greatly appreciated. The more feedback I get, the more I will be motivated to write! So if I don't receive any, I'll take that as a sign that I suck and that I shouldn't write anymore...

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**PART VIII: Much Ado About Everything**

_I__t's nothing… I'm all right… It's nothing… _

Again and again I repeat the words.

_It feels like I'm dying._

Dark blood continues to drip from the sore wound.

A part of me slips further and further away.

_Could this be love?_

I try to hold on tight.

_It's nothing… It's nothing…_

Sarah is lying.

Tears of mourning baptize me anew.

_No, I'm all right… Yeah, I'm all right._

_------_

The next day, I entered school newly reverted. I had spent the whole night, in front of my mirror, weighing out all options and possibilities of what Sarah had said, which was difficult due to heavy thoughts ironically of shallow things like infatuation. But, in the end, I was all right… Although it did result in a shattered reflection and a bloodied hand wounded by angered confusion; but, sans the need of stitching and removal of imbedded glass, I believe I'm all right…Yeah, I'm all right.

Across the hall, I stood, watching Jessie struggle to her locker with a stack of books nearly half her size in her delicate and fragile arms. The sight of her made me smile… for it amused me how hard she tried to condescendingly prove that she's smarter than everyone else. '_They're all probably books about God and her husband, Jesus, just to doubly insult us; to subtly rub in our faces that not only are we stupid, but we're all going to hell as well_.' Then, while she vainly tried to open her locker, the stack of books came crashing down with a booming thud and scattered sprawlingly across the floor. I had a sudden inclination to rescue her, but I tried to resist it. After all, she was clearly being punished for blatantly putting her arrogance on display; so why should I help her when she obviously deserved it? Shrugging off my thoughts, I ended up helping her anyway. I resolved that I should try and make amends with Jessie, but _not _because I am infatuated with her, '_I am NOT infatuated with Jessie_,' but so I can ultimately win the wager between Sarah and me; because I hate losing…especially to Sarah.

"Thanks," said Jessie with a forcibly polite smile as she took the books from my hand and placed them into her locker.

"No worries," I replied charmingly. "You know how I have a weakness for helpless blondes in distress."

Jessie laughed uncomfortably while trying to avoid my gaze, subsequently noticing my melodramatically bandaged hand.

"Oh my god, Katie, what happened to your hand?" cried Jessie, grabbing hold of my appendage.

Instantly, I became tense by the unexpected contact.

"Oh…uh…" I mumbled, suddenly incapable of forming comprehensible thoughts.

Abashedly noticing the reason for my inarticulation, Jessie quickly released her hold of my arm, and it fell limp.

"I'm sorry," apologized Jessie who was red with embarrassment.

"No, it's all right," I said as my wit restored. "I mean, I'm all right." I looked down at my wounded hand. "I-I just…" I tried to find the words that would glorify the incident in question and not make it seem as foolish as it actually was – me, stupidly punching a mirror of _glass_. "I got in a fight."

"With who?" asked Jessie as dark lines of worry drew across her brow.

"With…" I was going to explain how I was unexpectedly attacked by a whole gang of skin-headed neo-Nazis while I was on my way delivering food and clothing to a homeless shelter after saving an array of small children, nuns, and cute, furry little animals from a burning orphanage slash convent slash cute, furry little animals preservation center… But then Jessie did that stupid thing with her eyes again, which reminded me, '_Oh, wait… That happened last week.'_ So, defeated, I admitted with a sigh of embarrassment, "my mirror…"

Jessie exhaled a little laugh, seeming relieved, then jokingly inquired, "Who won?"

Reflexively, I responded to Jessie with mild bewilderment, which I suppose was amusingly apparent on my face since Jessie's smile widened when she looked at me. Her reaction was one I didn't expect. Usually with Sarah, I would be castigated with contemptuous laughter and cruel derisions for admitting to such stupidity. But with Jessie… Her laugh was genuine and good-natured, and her mockery wasn't intended to hurt anyone, but merely to make light of the situation. I found myself unwontedly smiling, liking this new change.

"Hard to say," I humored. "I mean, the mirror may be the one in pieces, but it did manage to give me a quarter-inch deep gash across my hand."

"Ouch," winced Jessie sympathetically.

"No, I'm all right," I said with great stoicism. "I'm a big girl now. I pick my own fights with mirrors and everything."

I crossed my arms and upturned my nose in jest. Jessie laughed, and I laughed with her, but it was only tact. I didn't want her to get suspicious.

"Hey, what's that?"

I pointed to a folded sheet of stationary that had fallen onto the ground from Jessie's locker as she took out one of her notebooks.

"It's nothing," said Jessie evadingly, hurriedly snatching up the piece of paper and placing it into her bag.

Jessie's name was scrawled across the front, which clearly meant it was a letter sent from someone else unless she knew another 'Jessie Sammler' or was clinically schizophrenic. And – by Jessie's reaction – the letter was deductively about me. The letter was from her informer…

"Who's it from?" I asked, trying to act casual, but a drop of contempt managed to leak through.

"That's none of your business," snapped Jessie.

"If this person is spreading rumors about me behind my back then it's my business!" I seethed, as my anger began to flood rampantly.

"It isn't a rumor if you already admitted that it's true!" countered Jessie, who seemed to have absorbed my un-dammed fury.

"So you admitted it! The letter _is _about me!"

"What!" Jessie became confused then shook her head violently. "No!"

"No! But you just said –"

"Forget what I just said!" interrupted Jessie, trying to settle the petty fight. "You shouldn't be asking if the letter is about you or not because it's none of your business. This is _my _letter addressed to me and no one else."

Jessie spoke in a patronizing tone and acted as if she was pacifying a toddler – taking a moment ever so often to see if I understood what she was saying.

"I'm the only one who can decide whether I'm going to share it or not and whom I'm going to share it with. And if I choose not to share it with you then you should respect that," said Jessie, with underlying subtext.

'_God, she sounds like an after-school special…_'

"Fine…" I surrendered. "But a word to the wise – you shouldn't avoid someone if it's for reasons that may not be entirely true."

"I'm not avoiding you," said Jessie, seeming hurt by the indirect accusation.

"Then how come I didn't see you at all yesterday?" I reasoned, keeping a hardened expression. I wasn't going to let my guard down for the "wounded puppy" look – an elementary trick at best.

Jessie read my reluctance to believe her then exhaled a deep sigh.

"If you must know… I had to go to the doctor. Principal Louis wanted me to fill out my immunization forms before I can continue taking classes this semester."

"So it's _not _because of something that happened over the weekend, like, say Saturday in particular?"

"No… Why? What happened on Saturday?" asked Jessie, feigning ignorance.

"Oh, I don't know… Certain truths were revealed, there was some crying, some teenage angst, _a lot_ of melodrama and, oh yeah! You almost kissed me…"

"I did not kiss you!" hissed Jessie, a bit panicked, looking around to see if any passers-by had overheard such a scandalous thing – me kissing a girl like Jessie who is _so_ far from my type.

"Yeah, I know… hence the word – _almost_," I said matter-of-factly in my normal volume, not caring if others heard, although slightly wishing for them to simply to see Jessie's eyes bug-out again. "But you did _want _to kiss me."

"No!" protested Jessie rather heatedly.

"No?" I asked evocatively, slowly lessening the distance between us.

"No…" said Jessie, breathless, growing more and more nervous with every step that I took toward her.

I stopped a little more than an inch in front of her. I was so close, I swear I heard the rapid thud of her heartbeat; its reverberant rhythm was intoxicating as it resounded through my body. I had to take a moment to admire such cadential beauty. Jessie stood seemingly paralyzed. I don't recall her ever blinking, not once, while we stood in admiring silence. I smiled; I always found myself smiling in response to whatever reaction I got from Jessie. Then after studying her face for one more moment longer, I leaned in slowly, which caused Jessie to inhale deeply with surprise; and as I bypassed her lips, I whispered softly into her ear…

"Well, I didn't hear you say stop…"

I pulled back then stared at Jessie with a malicious grin. She looked so innocent and vulnerable that I so deeply wanted to seduce her; I wanted to ravage her with such animalistic fervor; to savagely annihilate whatever purity resided in her; and I wanted her to still believe in God and His laws and still be unable to stop herself; I wanted the pleasure of watching her willingly betray everything that ever was important to her for sin; for me…

Jessie turned away, seeing the attractiveness of ill-intention in my eyes. Her head was probably filling with sinful thoughts. '_I can hear the Hail Marys already._'

"Look, that was an accident, okay," lamely explained Jessie as she shook her head to absolve her mind and emphasize her negation. "I have a boyfriend."

"Oh, do you?" I scoffed, with mocking laughter. "It's funny how you've never mentioned him until now."

"Well, I do," said Jessie defensively. She reached into her locker and pulled out a small photo of her with a boy. He was a midget of a fellow, barely taller than Jessie, with huge, bug-like eyes, and flaxen, unkempt hair atop an abnormally large, bulbous head that was disproportioned to his body. If there ever was a reason for Jessie being gay… he was it. "His name is Braden. He's a freshman at Northwestern, but he's only a year older than me. He graduated as a junior last year."

"Impressive," I said with biting sarcasm. '_Like I care…_'

"We've been dating for a year and a half now, and I miss him a lot," said Jessie, returning the photo to her locker. She sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than me.

"A year and a half and you still haven't given it up?" I remarked as she closed the door to her locker. "What's the matter? It isn't true love?"

Jessie turned to me, looking shocked at my audacity to ask such questions. However, I ignored her and continued my rhetorical interrogation.

"Do your knees not tremble when he holds you close? Does the color not drain from your face when he gazes deeply into your eyes? Does your heart not beat so fast whenever he's around that you can hardly catch your breath, and it feels like if he never leaves, it could just burst right out of your chest?"

I reached out and placed my hand upon Jessie's hurriedly beating heart, it pulsed feverishly beneath my touch, its tempo ever increasing, before I delicately whispered…

"Like it does for me…"

Quickly, Jessie pushed my hand away.

"Don't…I'm not like that, okay?"

"Not like what?" I asked, looking clueless while knowing perfectly well what she meant.

"I'm not like… I'm not a…"

Jessie became flustered complete with furrowed brow and stuttered speech. It was amusing to see how difficult it was for her to admit something that she so believed to be true. Perhaps, it was because a part of her knew that it wasn't…

"Sound it out…" I teasingly encouraged.

"I'm not a _lesbian_," said Jessie, finally managing to spit it out. However, she said that last bit lower than the rest of the sentence as if it was a forbidden word and death will come to all who say it.

"Wait. A what? What was that?" I asked, cupping my hand to my ear.

"You heard me," said Jessie sheepishly, not wanting to repeat it.

"Yeah, I know," I said with a mischievous grin. "But I want you to say it again. You make the cutest face when you're in denial."

I pinched Jessie's cheek for added emphasis.

"I'm not in denial," stated Jessie with grave seriousness as she swatted away my hand.

"Yeah, whatever," I said non-chalantly, shrugging off her severity. "But the truth of the matter is that you wanted to kiss me… Because you like me, Jessie."

I placed my hands on my hips and playfully raised a melodramatic eyebrow.

"Admit it… I'm adorable."

I smirked at Jessie suggestively. She stood still for a moment in a deep stupor, seemingly entranced by me. When she finally realized what she was doing, she quickly shut her eyes and shook her head for absolution once again.

"Believe what you want," said Jessie, turning away. "I can't talk to you right now."

"Oh, c'mon Jessie…" I laughingly pleaded as she began to walk away. "Don't be so homophobic!"

I tried to call out after her through pauses in laughter, "Jessie…Jess!"

After she turned the corner and was out of earshot, I immediately stopped laughing.

"Fuck…" I muttered under my breath. '_So much for making amends…_'

Shrugging off my thoughts, I began to leave, but after a few steps, I felt a slight elevation in the floor. I looked down to discover a small book beneath my foot. Picking it up for closer inspection, I found it was a copy of William Shakespeare's _Much Ado About Nothing_. I opened the book to the first page and saw written on its top-right-hand corner the name – Jessie Sammler. It was a book from Jessie's pile of tangible arrogance that had been overlooked.

"Miss Singer, you finally decided to participate in extra-curricular activities; have you?" said a voice out of nowhere.

"What?" I jumped, a bit startled. "No!"

I looked up and was met with a pair of big grey eyes belonging to my academic advisor – Miss Lafleur – who was also the head of Upton Sinclair's drama department. She was an amazingly gorgeous woman with long slender legs that composed most of her tall stature; she had dark red hair that swept down her back in flowing waves and cute little freckles that lined her face which belied her age of thirty-four. It was hard to believe that she was a failed actress. She must have really sucked at acting…

"Oh, but the book," said Miss Lafleur, pointing to the object which I held in my hand. "I assumed you intended to participate in this year's spring play."

"The play?" I asked, a bit confused. I almost forgot about the school's annual spring play wholly because I didn't give a shit; I hardly paid attention to anything, much less an amateur production butchering fine theater that was also associated with _school_. "Oh yes, the play… I thought you said… something else. I'm sorry. Yeah… Much Ado About Nothing." I held up the book then turned to its back-cover, trying to find something to say about it, but what the blurb basically said was that it was a play by Shakespeare. '_That's fucking brilliant…' _"Why, that is my most favorite play… by Shakespeare, which I like to… act out, as most people generally do with plays… right?"

I looked to Miss Lafleur for affirmation, which she gave by a simple head nod.

"Right…" I continued. "So, I guess, I will see you, Miss Lafleur, at auditions this – uh…"

"Today, at four."

"Today, at four. Of course! I was just testing you… And you passed! Good job! You get a gold star! Uh…" I searched my pockets and found a half-roll of mints. "Which is equivalent to Mentos! So here you go." I took her hand, and placed the mints into her open palm, before closing it up again. "Now, don't you eat them all at once or else you'll get a tummy ache." I warned as I patted her fist which held the half-roll of Mentos. "Well, see you later!" I turned around as a malevolent grin crept its way onto my lips.

'_The play's the thing._' It seemed dear Jessie longed for the spotlight; and, lucky for me, the light was blinding. I planned to go to rehearsal and purloin the letter from Jessie's bag as she auditioned. She would never be able to see me as the bright lights beamed upon her limiting her perception of those beyond the stage to shadows. It was a fool-proof plan, or so I thought…

But even the smartest of people can be made into fools.


	9. Rude Awakenings

_Author's Note: _I'm sorry for another long interval between updates. But you know how it goes – the impediments of priorities, writer's block, sheer laziness, etc. I'm just worried that my writing has worsened due to the long lapse in time and will subsequently disappoint you. 

_Author's Note 2:_ Italicized sentences in ' ' are thoughts.

_Feedback:_ Greatly appreciated. The more feedback I get, the more I will be motivated to write! So if I don't receive any, I'll take that as a sign that I suck and that I shouldn't write anymore...

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**PART IX: Rude Awakenings**

"Sammler, Jessie?"

As I entered the auditorium, Jessie was already being called onstage to audition. _'Right on time…'_ But the same could not have been said for Jessie.

"Sammler, Jessie!" called Miss Lafleur a second time, raising her voice louder than before. "Is Jessie Sammler here?"

When no one answered, Miss Lafleur was preparing to move on to the next person.

"Jessie Sammler… Going once, going twice…"

Suddenly the heavy, metal door of the auditorium entrance swung open, nearly hitting me in the face. It was Jessie. She rushed past me, not noticing my presence.

"I'm here. I'm here," said Jessie twice, making sure that we most definitely knew that she was here.

"Hey, Jessie, you're here!" exclaimed Tad with a wide grin, stupidly restating the obvious.

"Hey, Tad," greeted Jessie, a bit distracted.

Jessie rested her bag on the seat next to Tad and hurriedly opened it. She ransacked its contents, searching for something, but couldn't find what she was looking for. Amusingly, her face grew more and more distraught.

I knew what she wanted. It rested inside my pants… The small Shakespearean book that had unnoticeably fell from Jessie's hands earlier that afternoon sat snugly in my back pocket.

"Miss Sammler, I would like to continue on with auditions, if that's okay with you," said Miss Lafleur, growing impatient.

"Okay. I'm coming," relented Jessie, giving up her vain pursuit.

Tad made a gesture, offering his own book, but Jessie waved her hand dismissively. She told him something that was inaudible from my distance and then pointed to her bag. Tad nodded his head. Then, after taking a deep breath, Jessie walked onto the stage.

As Jessie stood, nervous and uncomfortable, beneath the bright lights of the stage, she looked… different. The blinding light, which was harsh to most, suited her; its brilliant radiance glorified the delicate features of her face, giving it a warm glow. And as Jessie unconsciously bit her lip, I caught myself smiling adoringly at the worried girl then chastened myself immediately. _'What the fuck are you doing, Singer?'_ I had almost forgotten why I came to the trivial event – to ascertain the identity of Jessie's informer.

With undeterred focus, I marched directly toward the seat between Tad and Jessie's bag.

"Katie?" Tad was in disbelief. He was just short of rubbing his eyes when he saw the person sitting next to him. "What are you doing here?"

Russell, who was sitting in the seat in front of Tad, had hurriedly turned his head at the mention of my name, not wanting to miss witnessing what seemed to them as a rare occurrence; he had almost given himself whiplash.

'_Why are they looking at me like I'm a sign of the apocalypse? Is it so hard to believe that I would be here? I could have wanted to support my friends… Yeah, no… Actually, no.' _

"Are you trying out?" asked Russell, half-doubtingly.

"Hardly…" I began, being honest with them. "This school theater bullshit is for fags who have no lives, so they decide to fuck away their weekends rehearsing long, garrulous plays that no one will ever watch except for their complaisant families and other people who feel forcibly obligated to… No offense."

"None taken," said Russell, holding up a hand of understanding.

"Hey!" protested Tad. "Russell may be here because he's a fag, but I'm here for all the hot shorties. If I get the part of Claudio then Joanna Franco will _have_ to kiss me, even if she's repulsed by me… It's in the play."

Russell stared at Tad petulantly.

"What?"

After a cool pause, Russell abruptly slapped Tad across the back of his head.

"Idiot…"

"Ow, dude! What the fuck?" lamented Tad as he gingerly rubbed the growing pain at the back of his head.

"So if you're not trying out then why are you here?" asked Russell, ignoring the sulking Tad who tried to counter with a punch to the arm, only to be blocked and slapped across the head yet again.

"Oh, right," I said, almost forgetting my intentions a second time. I reached for Jessie's bag then carelessly began to go through it.

"Hey, that's Jessie's bag!" announced Tad.

"I know," I said, while still rummaging for the letter.

"But Jessie told me to watch her bag for her," said Tad hesitantly, unsure if he should stop me.

"Well, technically, you are watching her bag," I reasoned. "Here's the bag, and there you are… watching it."

"Oh yeah," smiled Tad moronically, proud he wasn't breaching his duty.

"Good job," I sarcastically remarked, patting Tad on the back.

Tad still genuinely smiled and sat tall in his seat, believing he had truly accomplished something great. I simply rolled my eyes, which had become a natural reflex in response to Tad, and then focused my attention on the letter which I now victoriously held. Brashly, I unfolded the slander-filled note and zipped through its contents.

"No fucking way…" I interjected as I stared at the sender's signature. "This is unbelievable!"

In my total shock, I must have lost my prudence of voice because soon everyone's focus was on me.

"What was that, Miss Singer?" asked Miss Lafleur, participating in the collective gaze of bewilderment.

"Uh…" Surreptitiously, I placed the letter back into Jessie's bag, which was tactfully hidden from Jessie's view. "This is unbelievable…" I began coolly, trying to cover my misstep. "Jessie's acting, I mean…"

"She's just…" I stared at Jessie who was looking back at me with narrowed eyes of suspicion. She looked almost contemptuous, for Jessie was incapable of exhibiting true contempt. "Wow," I beamed with staged admiration. "Right, Tad?"

"Oh yeah," added Tad, after being sharply prodded. "Jessie's acting is so unbelievable… I can't believe a word she says."

Russell snickered openly, no longer able to suppress his laughter. It was amusing to him how his friends could not help tasting the soles of their feet.

"Wait…" back-peddled Tad. "I didn't mean it like that. What I meant was…"

"What Tad meant," I said, quickly interrupting Tad before he did any irreparable damage. "Was that each word, which floats from Jessie's divine mouth, is so ethereal that his limited, earthly mind cannot grasp the unbounded beauty of it."

"Smooth…" praised Miss Lafleur. She then stared at me with calculating eyes, seemingly entertaining dangerous ideas within her pretty head that was crowned with fiery scarlet. "Miss Singer, why don't you come down here and assist Miss Sammler with her audition."

"What?" I asked, taken aback.

"What?" echoed Jessie, with more worry than disbelief.

"I think it would be best if Katie auditions with you," explained Miss Lafleur. "You don't mind, do you? I mean, it would save me a lot of time, and you _were _late, so…"

"No," relented Jessie, almost unwillingly. "I guess I don't mind."

"Great," beamed Miss Lafleur, ignoring Jessie's apparent discomfort. "Katie, please come to the stage."

Russell was now laughing hysterically. The hilarity of my unsolicited predicament was too appealing to refuse. But as I stood to walk onstage, Russell's laughter immediately ceased. It seemed a blunt object had inexplicably collided with the back of his head.

"Sure…" I replied as I walked down the aisle. "Anything for you Miss Lafleur." I evocatively winked at her as I passed her by. Subsequently, the auditorium filled with childish "ooh"s and teasing quips.

"All right, that's enough Miss Singer," admonished Miss Lafleur, who had become quite flushed. "Everyone, settle down."

I jumped onto the stage, avoiding the stairs located at both ends, for it was much more convenient. Then I stood next to Jessie who hurtfully seemed unpleased to see me. But I overlooked her antagonism and greeted her with an innocent smile, admirably trying to restore amicability between us.

"What are you doing here?" seethed Jessie, not believing my good-natured disposition.

"Hmm?" I looked up from the book, which I had already pulled out from my back pocket and was presently skimming through. "Oh, I'm sorry," I said, acknowledging the glowering blonde. "Did you not know? They're holding auditions here."

"I know that," said Jessie, growing aggravated. "That's why I'm here. What's your reason?"

I paused and intently looked into Jessie's eyes that attempted to convey hatred but failed miserably.

"Now you needn't worry," I said, reading Jessie's concerns. "I have no illicit intentions. I would not dream of insulting you."

I reassuringly smiled then tucked behind Jessie's ear the loose strand of hair that always seemed to rebel against her tight and proper bun. Jessie became nervous and worriedly glanced over at the audience, fearing their reactions.

"Christ, Singer," teased one of the onlookers. "Are you always on?"

The others began to laugh in response. Jessie exhaled a breath of relief, thankful that no insults – well-meaning or otherwise – were directed at her. Miss Lafleur, however, was not as pleased.

"All right. Everyone, settle down," commanded Miss Lafleur, placating the crowd once more.

"Miss Singer, Miss Sammler…" She glared at Jessie with deep annoyance and subtle jealousy. "If you are about done with your private conversation, I would like to continue with auditions."

"I'm sorry," groveled Jessie, who stared submissively at the floor.

"Mmhmm," said Miss Lafleur, dismissing Jessie's apology. "Act I, scene 1, starting with line 108. Miss Singer, please begin."

"All right. Uh…" I opened the book and searched for the said page.

"You want me to read for Signor Benedick?" I asked, a bit confused.

"Yes," said Miss Lafleur non-chalantly. "Is that a problem?"

"No. But isn't Signor Benedick–" I sought the words that would best express this. "A dude?"

"Miss Singer, art does not know gender lines. In Shakespearean times, didn't boys play women?"

"Yeah, but that's because women weren't permitted to act in theaters. So, technically, art _does_ acknowledge gender lines."

"Just read the lines," deadpanned Miss Lafleur, irked at being corrected.

Complaisantly, I looked for the line again, inhaled a deep breath and began.

"If Signor Leonato be her father, she would not have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, as like him as she is."

"I wonder that you will still be talking, Signor Benedick," said Jessie, amazingly from memory. "Nobody marks you."

"What, my dear Lady Disdain! Are you yet living?"

"Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signor Benedick? Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come in her presence."

"Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted;" I paused before continuing, being struck by the lines' odd reflection of reality. "And I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart, for truly… I love none."

"A dear happiness to women!" countered Jessie, becoming immersed in the performance. "They would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God, and my cold blood, I am of your humor for that; I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me."

Our lines were now spoken heatedly as if they were our own.

"God keep your ladyship still in that mind! So some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predestinate scratched face!"

"Scratching could not make it worse, an 't were such a face as yours were!"

"Yeah? Well at least my head is proportionate with the rest of my body, unlike that midget boyfriend of yours!"

"What!"

"With that huge, bulbous head of his, I'm amazed he can still stand!"

"Well, at least he's not a pompous, bi-polar jerk like you!"

I paused in shock, surprisingly hurt by Jessie's words. A newly arisen emotion had overcome me, and I stood, confused, not knowing how to react. _'Why do I care what she says?' _I had been called similar words – even harsher words – numerous times before, but they had never affected me then. _'So why now? What was different?'_

"Wow…" said Miss Lafleur in total awe. "I love this. I love it! Although I could have done without your improvisational skills, I found you two did an excellent job! You both were able to naturally convey the _intense_ sexual tension between Beatrice and Benedick. I _really_ felt like it was there… Brava!"

I suppose we should have been elated by Miss Lafleur's immense praise, but instead we stood silent and emotionally torn. Jessie's chest was heaving with angered breaths, while her blue and soulful eyes poured with sorrow and regret. Sharply, she turned around and walked offstage; leaving me to stand alone and wallow in the scrutinizing gaze of the audience, which I suddenly became conscious of. I had always welcomed others' attention, wanting them to bear witness to my many conquests and to subsequently entitle me with well-deserved greatness. But now, I could not bear their judging eyes or the searing burn of the harsh, revealing lights; so I scurried offstage like a lowly coward, seeking cover in the veiling darkness.

Although, the air was static, there was a feeling of change that had enveloped me. I felt sick. My head burned; my body trembled. My eyes became blind; my ears – deaf. Nothing could be heard except for the raucous beating of my heart whose rapid pulse caused my lungs to explode in frantic breaths. I felt as though I was dying… What was this horrible, bewildering feeling that dominated control of my body? _'My god…'_

I was in love.


	10. To Speak Like a Green Girl

_Author's Note:_ I'm sorry for the long wait, but here's another chapter (if there are still people out there interested in reading it)... I hope you guys enjoy it!

_Feedback_: Greatly appreciated.

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**PART X: To Speak Like a Green Girl**

_Affection? Puh! You speak like a green girl _

_Unsifted in such perilous circumstance._

-- Hamlet (I.iii.110-111)

Look towards the sky. It is an early shade of night. The radiant, vibrant colors of orange and gold bleed into each other until the sky becomes bruised with deep purples and reds, hemorrhaging to an anemic black – the livery of Night; mourning's faithful partner.

------

The warm, delicate cry of a lone violin echoed throughout the many rooms of the Singers' estate. Its sweet resonance grew louder with every step toward Katie's boudoir, until suddenly it became muffled. Shortly after, one of the maids appeared before me, carrying a hamper of Katie's dirty laundry. Despite her haggard appearance, she was quite beautiful. She had an exotic look to her – dark brown eyes, olive skin, long black hair, which was now messily tied up in a bun – and couldn't have been older than nineteen.

"I think Miss does not wish to be disturbed," she reluctantly told me in a lowly voice. The waiflike girl trembled in my presence and avoided eye contact. In fact, she couldn't look at me at all. '_Aw, isn't that sweet. She remembers me._'

"Who pays you to think?" I scoffed. The girl trembled harder, almost dropping the wicker basket. I couldn't help smiling as I felt empowered by the fear which she emitted. Slowly, I walked toward her and leaned in to softly whisper into her ear. She flinched noticeably. "Now… What would your master think if he found out that his help is a whore, hmm? One who corrupts his daughter and her friends… I don't think he would like that very much; would he?" I pulled away then, with a gentle finger, lifted her chin in order to make eye contact.

"No," she barely muttered, shaking her head slowly.

"No…" I tenderly wiped away the sweat-matted hair from her brow as well as the slow trickle of tears which now fell from her eyes. "So unless you want to go back to selling your ass on the streets for pesos and cocaine, I suggest you refrain from telling me what you think and get out of my way."

Obediently, the girl moved aside and scurried down the hall.

"It was nice seeing you again!" I called after her.

Closing the door behind me, I was enveloped in the euphoric sound of Katie's violin once more. Its sensuality was increased due to the lack of all other senses. It was hard to see anything. The room was dark. None of the lights were turned on, and all of the curtains were drawn closed. The only source of light emanated through the opened ingress to Katie's balcony. There was no doubt I would find her outside sitting in the nook between the wall and the ledge, morosely playing her Stradivarius.

Katie was in another one of her melodramatic, "O, I am so privileged yet so tortured" brooding fits. The last time this happened, her father had given her a Porsche 911 Turbo Cabriolet instead of a Porsche 911 Turbo S Cabriolet. The significance of that extra letter, I'm not quite sure of, for the two look completely identical as far as I can tell. I think the S denotes that the car is faster than the other, which I know is a trait that Katie heartily appreciates, and not in cars alone. I questioned why the difference would matter when she would be spending most of her time limited to no more than 15 mph in traffic. She responded that it was not the slightly inferior performance which upset her, but the lack of her father's attention to what she had asked. She interpreted the act as her father's lack of care for her. She reasoned that if he had truly loved her, he would have listened to every detail she had told him and subsequently would not have made such an insensitive error. I could have cared less for Katie's supposed unfulfilled want for parental love. She was being a spoiled brat who felt that all attention had been diverted from her. I steeled myself so that I would not surrender the attention she longed for. Katie more than anyone deserved to know the feeling of deprivation. But the act was done in vain, for Katie was the master of persuasion. She could coax the devil himself into succumbing to her whims. I ended up spending the whole night consoling her. She even manipulated the maid into consoling her with me. "The more the merrier" Katie would say, perversely interpreting the adage as a promotion for orgiastic behavior.

The final note resounded from Katie's violin like the sun at the very last moment before it sets – slow and calming, disappearing into oblivion with resigned acceptance, followed by nothing but darkness.

"That was beautiful," I said as I walked onto Katie's balcony, finding her where I had predicted. She could have easily fallen to her death had she lost her balance or if a strong wind raged past; but the weather was calm and so was Katie. She seemed not to fear death and would accept it without struggle – like poor Ophelia who is "Drowned, drowned" – even as it drenches her clothes till they pull her down into the ultimate mire of mortality. "What was that piece?"

"Debussy's _La Fille aux Cheveux de Lin_," said Katie absently, staring toward the sunset.

And in that instant, my heart jumped into my throat, making it hard to breathe. It was a reaction to the sudden realization that someone else had affected Katie in a way that I hoped I only would. I felt betrayed. Katie had played each note beautifully so that I could not help but fall in love with every one of them; but as I held each dearly to my breast, they hacked into my heart, deepening cuts that had appeared when a certain blonde did; and now, dark jealousy fiercely bled from the sore wounds, congealing onto the skin, making it difficult to hide.

"The Girl with the Flaxen Hair?" I teased, self-conscious of my tone of voice. I desperately tried to not let any semblance of resentment slip through my lips. "Don't tell me that you play for _her_ now, so overcome by _love_."

I readied myself for Katie's expected vehemence of denial, but it never came.

"Are you not going to argue?" I asked, sounding more concerned than disappointed.

"Why would I when I at last agree?" lamented Katie as she continued to stare out into the distance.

"What do you mean?" I cautiously asked. "Agree on what?" I walked to the ledge where Katie sat. When I tried to look at her, she stepped off the ledge and turned away.

"You and I both already know, so do not make me say it."

"If I knew, I wouldn't have asked you to," I tried to say consolingly, but somehow it just sounded like I was annoyed, which I was, but I didn't want it to sound that way.

Katie still refused to look at me and instead stared into the darkness of her room. The glow of the setting sun gave her hair a golden sheen, and even from behind, she was beautiful.

"I am…" Katie began hesitantly, fumbling for words, "stricken––with a lover's blindness… All the things in the world about me, I see––only in relation to her… She possesses my every thought, my every action… Nothing is mine anymore."

Katie finally turned to me; and in her eyes, I saw something, which I had never expected to see in her, ever. For the first time, Katie looked… _helpless_, and even a bit frightened.

"This heart…" continued Katie, clenching at her breast, "it beats for _her_… These hands," said Katie, outstretching her arms, with her palms upturned, "wish to do nothing but what pleases _her_… This violin," Katie picked up the $4 million Stradivarius which she had laid on a nearby chair, "which was _my_ refuge; which was given to _me _to play as _mine _and only _mine_––can now only play music dedicated to _her_! It sickens me!"

Suddenly, Katie hurled the irreplaceable instrument at the opposite wall, and it broke into several worthless pieces.

"Now that wasn't very smart…" I said, rolling my eyes at Katie's hysterics.

"My entire body has betrayed me," continued Katie, ignoring my remark. She collapsed onto the chair where her violin had lay and held her head in her hand. "What am I going to do?"

I stared at this new Katie – a worried girl with tears in her eyes, terrified by the prospect of falling in love… and I could not help laughing.

"Enjoying this, are you?" said Katie, clearly annoyed.

"Oh, c'mon, it's funny," I offered as I took the seat opposite Katie's. "Katie Singer – the girl with a hardened heart, thought incapable of love, finally brought down by _Mrs. Jesus_? It's like eighteen years of karma coming back to bite you in the ass." I reclined in my chair, crossed my legs and folded my hands in my lap – all with a smug grin on my face. "And the best part of all is that you're the one who brought it upon yourself. I mean, you _are _the one who essentially brought her here… It's almost like a Greek tragedy."

"Does that mean that you'll die at the end? Because I'll be looking forward to it," seethed Katie, with her endearing narrow-eyed look which resembled that of a six year old who had just swallowed a teaspoon of cough syrup.

"God, you must _really_ be in love," I teased. "Your head is so clouded, even your comebacks have gotten worse."

"Fuck off."

"Point proven."

Katie slumped in her chair, angry and defeated. She then turned her head toward the horizon once more.

The whole world felt static as the sun drew in its last breath and dispersed into a fit of golden hues. Katie looked ethereal in the glow of its dying light like Lucifer in his guise of high divinity as if he had not lost heaven but was still an angel of God. But when the sun retired into the ground – a momentary semblance of earthliness which it could never truly possess – all was revealed to be false and hollow… yet I worshipped her still.

"Look… You're not in love okay. You just think you are because Jessie is the first girl who has rejected you––several times."

"What do you mean?" asked Katie, looking at me as if I held the cure for cancer and she had only 24 hours left to live.

"You are a _very _persistent person, Katie, who feels that she must _always _get what she wants, so every time Jessie rejects you, you subsequently want her more…" Katie's eyes slowly shifted from left to right as she processed my theory. "Therefore, constant rejection causes your desire to increase to the point where you _think _that you're in love with her. But it's not love. It's just a result of your inability to cope with rejection because you are a spoiled, stubborn bitch," I finished matter-of-factly.

"Thank you, Lucy van Pelt."

"I hate it when you compare me to cartoon characters."

I got up and walked to the drink cart located behind me and poured myself a shot of Tanqueray. Conversation always made me thirsty, and liquor always made me talk, so the more I drank, the more I talked, and the more I talked, the more I drank. It's just one huge, self-destructive cycle, isn't it?

"But then what would explain the sudden lack of senses; the loss of breath; the whole, 'when I see her suddenly…trembling shakes my body / and I turn paler than dry grass…'? Aren't those the typical symptoms of love?" asked Katie, searching for reassurance, or perhaps looking for me to admit that maybe she was really in love with Jessie.

"You were probably just having a panic attack or something," I said, hoping she meant the former.

"But I never panic."

I leaned with my shoulder against the wall and said, "You also have never been rejected by a girl before in front of a live studio audience; but, hey, there's a first time for everything, right?" I slowly drank the shot. It smoothly passed over my tongue, clean and dry, lightly breathing juniper. I promptly poured myself another.

"How do you know about that?" asked Katie, sitting up in alarm.

"Baby, the whole school knows about it. And, right now, your reputation is falling to shit."

"Fuck…" Katie slumped in her chair, tilting her head over its back and covered her face with her hands.

"Exactly…" I said as I returned to my seat, with glass and bottle in hand. "You better fuck that girl fast. Or pull _something_ off, because your chance to graduate a legend is slowly slipping away." I rested the bottle on the round, glass table beside me, after pouring myself a third shot.

"God!" interjected Katie, as she threw her hands at her sides. "You know, this never would have happened if Lily learned how to keep her goddamn mouth shut."

"Lily? What are you talking about?"

"Oh my god, are you ready for this?" Katie sat up in order to better gauge my reaction. "I've recently discovered that your good friend, Lily, is the one who sent the letter to Jessie urging her to stay away from me."

"You've got to be kidding me," I said, not because I was shocked, but because I felt like it was the obligatory thing to say.

"No," said Katie, not really caring whether I was interested or not. She forcefully pushed her back into the chair and whined, "How does she even know Jessie?"

"I have no idea," I answered, although I knew the question was more of Katie thinking out loud than it was a question directed at me. Again, it was just because I felt obligated to.

"Well, now I plan to devote all my energies to destroying the douche bag," said Katie, with fiery malice in her eyes. "That daughter of hers––consider her fucked."

I almost choked on my drink. _'Did Katie just volunteer to help me out, or was it just the booze making me hear what I wanted?' _I was already up to my sixth glass, so I decided to ask her just to make sure.

"Does that mean you're going to help me out?" I asked, trying not to sound too elated by this possible new turn of events.

"No… I'm just attaining my revenge which by chance involves the same measures as your own," said Katie, trying to convince herself that she was in no way helping somebody else, which is the last thing she would want to do, especially when that somebody was me. "Besides, Grace will be way easier than Jessie, and I figure I need something to massage my bruised ego."

"Whatever," I said, brushing her off. "As long as I get my way, I'm not one to burst bubbles of self-delusion."

I got up to walk to the drink cart once more and retrieved a second glass. I then took up the bottle of Tanqueray from the table and poured its remainder into the two glasses.

"I think a toast is in order," I said, handing Katie a glass.

Katie looked at me then to the drink in my hand, before she hesitantly took it from me; and I imagined that Adam shared her same expression when Eve offered him the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge.

"To the imminent fall of Lily Manning," I began, as I raised my glass, "the corruption of her daughter, the humiliation of Gavin Gercourt and the subsequent attainment of our revenge. Cheers."

"Cheers," muttered Katie, as she raised her own glass.

Our glasses met and they made that slight clink, which was very pleasing to the ear, at least to my own, for it was the sound of Katie's unconditional surrender. Whether she believed it or not, Katie had given me exactly what I wanted, willingly, and I had done nothing to provoke it. I slowly consumed the ardent spirit and savored my latest triumph.

"Mmm…Tastes good."

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The liquor burned as it seared down my throat, and without hesitation I welcomed the pain, for I knew I somehow deserved it.

I don't know why, but I felt guilty as I took up the glass from Sarah's hand… And as I brought the drink to my lips, for some reason, I saw Jessie's hurt face, and I could not help feeling like I had betrayed her.


	11. The Troggs and Mystery Man

_Author's Note: _Hola all! I'm back. Sorry about the _extremely _late update but Fall semester was harsh. Plus I'm not very good at getting things done quickly. I tend to procrastinate and develop severe writer's block... But enough with the excuses. Without further ado...

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**PART XI: The Troggs and Mystery Man**

"Okay, so now take your first finger and place it right here at the first fret." Eli was instructing Grace how to play the guitar by way of example on his own – a kind of "monkey-see, monkey-do" approach, which is an apt comparison.

"Like this?" asked Grace the monkey. She clumsily tried to mimic Eli's fingering on her guitar, but unsurprisingly failed.

"Uh…Try not to put your finger directly on the fret…Here." Eli took Grace's hand and corrected her. "There…Perfect." Eli smiled at Grace, and she nervously smiled back. After an awkward pause, Eli weakly threw his hands up in a half-assed celebration. "Now you can play a song," he muttered. Not that he was being sarcastic or derisive. That's just the way he talks – low, indifferent, almost incomprehensible. It's his attempt to appear cool and mysterious, I suppose. But to me, he just looks like a dumb ass who needs to learn how to enunciate.

"But I only know three chords," said Grace meekly.

"And your point is?" Eli smiled then reached into the bag that was by his foot. "Look. Bands have made hundreds of songs with just three chords." He pulled out a sheet of paper. "Try this."

"Okay…" Grace took the paper from Eli's hand and studied it carefully. She then gingerly arranged her fingers into the first designated chord and began to play, or at least tried to. There was a huge pause in between each note because apparently it was extremely difficult for Grace to remember the fingering for each of the **THREE **chords she had just learned. She looked like a retard with a violent case of Parkinson's in her left hand. Eli noticed this and instructed her to "try not to be so spastic," which is like telling Paris Hilton to "try not to be so whore-y" or Michael Jackson to "try not to be so creepy and child-molester-ish." – it isn't going to happen (no matter what the jury says). Eli asked Grace to start over, but this time "just let it flow." When she did, the notes still sounded muffled and flat, if not worse than before.

"I suck." Grace threw her pick to the ground in frustration. "I suck!"

"Relax. Okay? You don't suck." Eli got up from his seat, which was adjacent to Grace's, and retrieved the discarded pick. "Here…We'll try again. But this time, I'll guide you." Eli positioned himself behind Grace, who was sitting at the end on the shorter edge of a black, rectangular bench. "Okay?"

"O–okay," said Grace, hyper-aware of Eli's increased proximity.

Eli placed his fingers on top of Grace's and together they made the first few chords ring out, and the song finally became comprehensible.

"Wild thing…" Eli sang. "You make my heart sing…"

Grace laughed, hopefully realizing the ridiculousness of it, but then, like a mindless lemming, she joined in. "You make everything…"

"Grooovy," they bellowed in unison.

"Wild thing, I think I love you… But I wanna know for sure… Come on and hold me tight…"

Eli laughed then turned to Grace who coincidentally turned to Eli at that same moment. Suddenly their smiles were gone, and the tone became serious. Eli studied Grace's face. His gaze moved from her eyes to her lips where it lingered for a moment. Then, in a soft whisper, Eli completed the verse, "I love you." Grace nearly dropped the guitar, while Eli's grip on it tightened. He slowly leaned in, finally making some kind of move. I swear the guy works at the speed of a Special Olympics hurdler. Grace then closed her eyes, anticipating Eli's lips…. when her goddamn cell phone rings. Grace reluctantly freed herself from Eli's purely "educational" embrace to retrieve her cell which she left on the table by the entryway.

"Shit… It's my mother," said Grace, after reading the caller ID but not bothering to pick up. "I better go."

"Yeah. Okay," said Eli as he leaned forward to grasp the edge of the bench and hang his head in disappointment.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" said Grace, partly offering reassurance, partly searching for it.

Eli looked up at her and then smiled. "Absolutely."

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"Absolutely," mocked Sarah in a childish-tone. "God, they're so sickeningly sweet, they can make a diabetic go into hyperglycemic shock." With a disgusted sigh, Sarah shut off the television on which she was monitoring the progress between Grace and Sarah's unwitting tool. The feed must have transmitted from a hidden camera in the tool's estate. Sarah threw the remote against the armrest of the couch on which she sat then got up to leave. She must not have heard me come in because her eyes grew wide and she inhaled deeply in surprise when she saw me standing in the doorway.

"Shit, Katie!" shrieked Sarah, placing a hand on her heart as if to keep it from bursting through her chest. She took a deep breath in order to compose herself. "God! I swear you need to wear a fucking bell or something."

"Why? Did I scare you?" I playfully asked as I jumped over the back of the couch into its seat. "What were you watching?" I turned on the TV and flipped through its channels. It seemed there was one for every room of the house. I stopped at a bedroom where a very stoned individual lay enthralled by a shiny object. The tool soon entered and seemed perplexed by the other's presence. "Coop? What the hell are you doing here?" "Dude, check this out," said the stoner, carefully holding up the object. "It's one of those special state quarters. This one is Ar-kansas." The tool took the quarter and inspected it. "You mean Ar-kan-saw." Coop furrowed his brow in confusion. "Isn't that another state?" I quickly shut off the TV before my brain could completely liquefy. "God, aren't there enough reality shows about socialites? They're stupid. I get it."

"Do you like it?" asked Sarah as she sat down beside me with a self-satisfied grin. "I paid off their surveillance guy to install hidden cameras and microphones all around their house."

"How very Big Brother of you."

"I had them installed in Grace's house as well," said Sarah absent-mindedly as she turned on the TV and surfed its channels. "I figure this way we can monitor them and our progress and ultimately have something to forever immortalize our success. You know, something to show the grandkids."

"Or sell on the internet for $29.95 a pop."

"Wouldn't hurt." Sarah shrugged. "We could call it…" Sarah turned to me and reflected for a moment. "_One Night in Grace_."

"That wasn't remotely original."

Sarah nodded then turned back to the TV. "I'll work on it." Dumb and dumber were now discussing past lives and how dumber believes he used to be Benjamin Franklin who is apparently the inventor of the light bulb – something you will never see flashing atop poor dumber's head.

"So is this what you wanted to show me?" I asked, preparing to leave. "Because I can get the same effect from watching MTV." Before I could stand up completely, Sarah took my hand and gently yet firmly pulled me back into my seat.

"No, silly," Sarah warmly breathed into my ear. "_This _is what I wanted to show you." She then nestled her head against mine and raised the remote. With a press of a button she revealed a poor man with a whining succubus stuck to his face.

"Oh my god… Is that…?" I feigned shock and Sarah nodded, pleased with herself. It was obvious she wanted me to care about Lily and her new Lothario, so I took great care to do the exact opposite. "_Middle-Aged Laguna Beach: The Real Desperate Housewives of the OC_." Sarah's smile disappeared into a look of utmost annoyance. It became harder for me not to laugh. "I heard about this show," I managed to say casually. "These network execs just aren't trying anymore."

"Is it possible for you _not _to be a smart ass for once?"

"You might as well ask me to stop breathing." I reflected for a moment. "Or fucking… But that would be much worse."

"Aren't you at all curious about the identity of Lily's mystery man?"

"Not as much as I am amused by your use of the words 'mystery man.'" In truth, I was more curious about why Lily hadn't already swallowed the poor bastard whole. It looked like she was struggling to accomplish this feat for a while, and with that big mouth of hers I'm sure she could have done it.

"I swear you live to torture me," Sarah lamented as she flirtatiously pushed me away and sulked against the back of the couch.

I sat back next to her, lying on my side. "Among other things," I suggestively replied. My fingertips slowly felt their way along Sarah's arm, invisibly connecting her light brown birthmarks. But Sarah still kept her sullen disposition, painfully trying to seem unaffected by my charms just to spite me. "Okay. I'll bite." I sat up again and made my eyes abnormally wide in a semblance of exaggerated interest. "Tell me, Sarah," I said in a patronizing tone, "who is Lily's _mystery man_?"

A huge grin cut across Sarah's face as she turned to me excitedly and said, "Eli's father!" It seemed she had expected this revelation to incite a mutual excitement in me or shock or any kind of reaction at all, but I was indifferent.

"And Eli is…?"

"The name of the guy I set up with Grace," she said as if I should have already known and it was a pain to repeat. "Did I not tell you that?"

I shook my head. "It must have slipped your mind…" I got up to retrieve the bowl of maraschino cherries from Sarah's bedside table. "You were probably too busy trying to work 'mystery man' into your vocabulary."

"Would you just drop it already?"

"But it gives me such great pleasure not to." I took a cherry and popped it into my mouth. It was sweet and delicately soft. When I pressed upon it with my tongue its bright red skin easily tore open and its juices came through. It was sweeter on the inside.

"Well, keep it up and it will be the only pleasure you'll be able to have," said Sarah as she reached into the bowl. "I'll make sure of it." She delicately placed a cherry into her mouth then bit down hard and ripped off its stem. She grinned maliciously.

"Sorry," I said with a charming smile. "I'll be good." I turned my attention back to the TV. They were still going at it. "Grace's mother and Eli's dad…" I thought aloud. "How incestuous this class is."

"More than you think," said Sarah cryptically.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You'll soon find out." Sarah then took the bowl from my hands and placed it on the coffee table in front of us.

"Hey! Cherries…" I whined, like a child. I reached out for the bowl but Sarah excitedly grabbed my hand.

"This is perfect, do you realize?" I tried to reach the bowl with my other hand, but she took hold of that one too. I commenced pouting. "With their parents dating, the thought of being together becomes taboo therefore more enticing. Eli will have Grace on her back before his dad can pick up the check."

"Because Grace is a hooker?"

Sarah rolled her eyes then continued, disregarding my remark. "I didn't even plan for this to happen…" She stood up, leaving my hands free, and I eagerly reached for the bowl once more. But when it became just within reach, Sarah took it up again. "Everything just sort of fell into place," she said, taking a cherry to her mouth, "like I was destined to attain my revenge."

"Does that include being a rude, cherry-stealing bitch?"

Again she ignored me. "All I need now is to devise a way for Grace to find out."

At that moment, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed another figure enter the frame. "It seems like you won't have to," I said, recognizing the person on-screen.

"Mom?" Grace stood stark still in the doorway, her voice trembling.

Lily managed to pull her suckers off of mystery man's face and whirled around in surprise. "Grace! Honey…" she began, with that artificial smile you picture attendants use at mental institutions. "Boy, you got here fast." She let out a nervous laugh, which seemed to echo off the walls closing in on her. Grace remained deathly silent. "Look at who I invited for dinner." Lily signaled to Eli's father. "You know–"

"I can't believe you," whined Grace with tears welling in her eyes.

"Gracie, wait!" Lily pleaded, reaching out for her daughter. "Come back, sweetheart!"

"This is perfect!" Sarah began to cackle, reveling in her self-proclaimed destiny also known as blind luck. "This is perfect!" A few moments later, her cell phone rang, and by her haughty "Ha!" I knew it was Grace. Sarah cleared the arrogance and sadism from her throat. "Hello?" Even though I was five feet away, I could still hear Grace's sobs on the other line. "What?" said Sarah with affected horror. "I can't believe it!" She then moved on to the next stratagem of sympathy. "Aw, honey, I know…." To the patronizing costume of friendship. "Why don't you come here and we can talk about it over a nice cup of hot cocoa. How does that sound?" I smiled reflectively, amused by how everything became so formulaic to us. Did we really become that jaded with life, or were we _never_ capable of sincere human relations as if we were never born with a soul – that which enables mortal beings to form immortal connections; to have soul mates. Was I never to have a soul mate? Was that a bad thing? The thought of forever being with one person made me queasy. But I thought of Jessie and her soul and of me having none, and for some reason I became saddened. "Great!" exclaimed Sarah with her perfunctory smile. "À bientôt!" She then snapped her cell shut and looked at me smugly. "Destiny."


	12. Innocence Lost

_Author's Note_: Here's another update just five days after the last one, which is relatively fast for me who can generally be a slow ass... I figured I should post another part before I go back to school, which is tomorrow, because I don't know when I'll get another free chance to. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! 

_Author's Note 2_: The dashes symbolize either a change in time or narrative voice.

_Author's Note 3: _Italicized words in ' ' are thoughts.

_Feedback_: The more people interested, the more updating becomes a priority to me, so any comments, questions, suggestions, criticism, any general feedback at all are greatly welcomed and appreciated!

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**PART XII: Innocence Lost**

The doorbell rang and Sarah quickly jumped to her feet. "It's her!" Sarah smoothed out the wrinkles in her clothes then took a deep breath to calm her excitement. "All right. You stay here."

I stood up and smiled. "What, hide in the bedroom like I'm one of your prostitutes?" I exhaled a laugh of incredulity. "Fuck you. I'm going to the kitchen." I started to approach the door, but Sarah hurriedly blocked my way.

"No!" Sarah walked backwards as I continued to leave. She ended up slamming her back against the door. I smirked, enjoying the sound. "Just stay here, okay?" She leaned in and flirtatiously played with the collar of my shirt. "I'll send something up." She then turned to leave.

"Crêpe aux fraises," I called out through the closing gap between the door and its frame. "Or tarte fine aux pommes!" When I had come in, I'd passed by Renoir's _Still Life with Strawberries _hanging in Sarah's foyer which had put me in the mood for something sweet and fruity. '_Now where are those cherries?_'

------

"Hello, Grace!" I said to the figure pacing back and forth in the drawing room as I descended the grand staircase.

Grace turned around. Her eyes were puffy and red. Her face was streaked with black tears. She looked like Alice Cooper crashing down from a weed trip. "What took you so long!" She whined. "I've been waiting here forever!"

"Aw, hon, I'm so sorry," I said, caressing her face consolingly. "But I have to go." I started for the door. It was the perfect time to leave Grace alone with Katie. She was heartbroken, vulnerable… It was like leaving a wounded lamb in a den of wolves… wolf, really.

"What? Why?" Grace panicked and scrambled after me, almost as if she sensed the danger looming over her, which can be taken quite literally since Katie was in the room just above us.

"The Children's Hospital just called," I announced, never slowing down my pace. "They're short on volunteers at the burn ward and I just couldn't say no." I stopped at the towering stained-glass entry doors and faced Grace with my best mask of compassion. "Those poor children… with their whole bodies… all burnt… and _crispy_…" I reflected for a moment. "God, I could really go for some Cajun right now." I smiled and added a quick, "Well, bye," then left through the doors.

"Wait, Sarah!" pleaded Grace desperately as she followed me outside. "I need you!"

"God, Grace, don't be so dramatic." I took my keys to the SLR McLaren from the valet. "Thanks, Keith," I said graciously.

"Actually, miss, it's Robert," corrected Keith insolently.

I walked to the side of the car. "And I care because?"

"I-I-I don't know, miss," stuttered Keith like a bumbling idiot.

"Just open the goddamn door…"

Keith ran to my side and finally did his job. I got into the car and rolled down the windows. "You better clean that," I said, signaling to the fingerprints Keith left on my gull-wing door. Hurriedly Keith took the tail of his shirt and did as Keith was told. "Thanks, Keith."

"Katie's upstairs," I said, returning my attention to Grace who was becoming more frantic by the second. "She can make you feel _all _better." I put the car in gear and began to leave the gravel driveway. There was a satisfying _crunch _beneath my tires as I moved. It was the sound of superiority, of predatoriness, of simply being on top… And I always enjoyed being on top. "Have fun…" I said as I waved Grace good-bye.

I left the wounded lamb in the hands of the wolf in shepherd's clothing, and I could not help but drive away, smiling.

------

There was a knock at the door. '_Finally…_' I was starting to get sick of eating maraschino cherries, at least by themselves. "Come in!" I ran my fingers through my hair and checked my reflection in the silver of the bowl. I hoped that Sarah had sent up her newest maid whom the Grassos had imported from Sweden. She didn't speak a word of English, but she had blonde hair and blue eyes and reminded me greatly of…

"Grace?" I was more disappointed than surprised when I saw the disaster of a girl waiting on the other side of the door. Contrasting with her distraught face, she wore a saccharine pink shirt which sported the image of Strawberry Shortcake – the cartoon character, not the dessert – on its front. '_Not what I meant by sweet and fruity._'

"Uh, hi," said Grace hesitantly. She entered the room as if she feared the floor would fall out from under her at any moment.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" I asked as I kicked aside throw pillows on my way back to Sarah's bed. She owned a superfluous amount, even more than I, which is saying a lot. I had strewn them all aside when I had gone to lie on it instead of neatly stacking them in the chest at the foot of her bed simply because it was most convenient, at least for me. Plus, I wasn't her maid. "Where's Sarah?" I asked as I picked up the book that I had been reading before I got up for nothing.

"She left…" said Grace, standing stiffly by the doorway. "She told me to come up here so you could help me feel better."

I put the book down and smiled reflectively. "God, I _am _her prostitute…"

"What?"

"Nothing." I casually patted the open area next to me. "Why don't you sit down?"

"I-I don't know," said Grace, never moving from her spot. "My mom told me that I shouldn't hang out with you, with your reputation…" She nervously crossed her arms against her breast. "Especially not alone." She looked around. "And especially not in a bedroom… Or in an elevator or in a hotel coat room…" She smiled awkwardly. "Not even in a church confessional…"

"She heard that Sister Mary rumor, huh?" I said, smiling with feigned embarrassment, all the while being secretly proud although Mary wasn't really a nun, at least not until after I was through with her.

"Is it true?" asked Grace in wonder; her eyes wide like a child finding out about the existence of Santa.

"What do you think?" I asked as if the very notion was absurd. "Rumors are rumors… Besides, don't you think your mother is the last person you should be listening to right now?"

"How do you know I'm mad at my mom?" asked Grace, mildly suspicious.

"Because…" I began coolly. "Teen angst usually stems from hatred toward the parents. And since your dad isn't in the picture, it was a simple process of elimination."

"Oh, okay," said Grace, simply accepting without doubt. She then stared at the floor for a moment as if she was considering whether or not she should tell me something. "My mom is dating the dad of a guy I really, really like," she confided in me.

"Wow," I said, obviously patronizing her. "That sucks." But she didn't seem to notice.

"I know! Out of all the guys she could have picked, she chose Eli's dad!" Grace began to anxiously pace back and forth; her feet threatening to burn a hole in Sarah's hand-woven Persian rug. "I can't believe her! How could she do this to me!"

"All right, Grace, you need to calm down."

"What if they get married? We'd be like brother and sister!" Grace began to hyperventilate. Her voice rose to that of a grating, high-pitched squeak. "Oh my god! I'm in love with my brother! That's sick!"

"Grace, calm down."

"I'm sick! SICK!"

"Grace, shut up!" I yelled, losing my patience. Grace immediately went quiet. Her face went from shock to hurt. "Sorry…" I took a deep breath then walked over to her. "Look…" I wrapped an arm around her shoulder and guided her to the bed. "They're not married yet, so this whole _Flowers in the Attic _ordeal you're worrying about is pointless. If you should be worrying about anything, it should be Gavin."

"Oh my god, you're right! You're so completely right! I'm with Gavin, and then I go and admit that I'm in love with another guy? I'm a horrible person!"

"No. That's not what I meant." I sat her down at the foot of the bed and had her look me in the eyes. "It's okay that you like Eli, and it's okay that you like Gavin. My point is that you can be with both… as long as one doesn't find out about the other."

"I can?"

"Yeah…" I lay back against the headboard and picked up the book again. "Fuck whoever you want," I said, not really caring what she did.

Grace went stiff. "Fuck?"

"You know, slang for sexual intercourse…" I peered over my book at her and smiled. "Don't tell me you're _that_ sheltered."

"No, I know what 'fuck' means," said Grace defensively. "I just don't _know_…. " Her face went red. "I never…."

"Why, Grace, are you a virgin?"

Her gaze went immediately to the floor. "That's an understatement…" she said hesitantly. She began to trace small circles on the bed with her finger. "I haven't even _kissed_ yet."

I took a moment to survey Grace carefully. She had butterfly clips in her hair and ketchup stains on her shirt. She was nothing more than an innocent girl; naïve and easily influenced. Suddenly it felt like something heavy was weighing down on my chest. I tried to shake it off. "Well, c'mon," I said as I placed the book down and sat up. "I'll teach you."

Grace's head immediately shot up and her eyes widened in shock. "What!" She searched my face for any sign of jest but when she found none, she made a face of childish disgust. "Ew! No way!"

"Why not?" I asked calmly.

"Because you're a girl!"

"Yes, I'm aware."

"Well, I'm not gay." She stretched out the last word in a lower voice like a child trying not to finish the whole profanity so she couldn't get in trouble for saying it.

"Grace, have you ever kissed a girl before?"

"No. I told you, I haven't kissed _anyone_ before…"

"So how will you know if you don't like it if you've never even tried it before?" It was a hackneyed line but with Grace I knew it would work perfectly well.

"I-I don't know…"

"Plus, don't you want to be prepared when Eli kisses you? You don't want to come off as inexperienced."

"No… I guess not." Grace was starting to wear down. She did not notice me slowly stalking my way down the bed towards her; inch by inch, getting closer before the pounce.

"And who better to teach you than someone as experienced as me?" I asked; my voice low but normal, so as to distract her but not completely gain her notice.

"You do have a loose reputation…" Grace reasoned to herself. "And I don't use the term 'loose' lightly…" She giggled then turned to face me. It was already too late when she realized my dangerously close distance.

"Just shut up and close your eyes," I commanded, and she did as she was told; following me without argue or mind like a lamb to its shepherd. "Now wet your lips." She did this. "All right, so I'm going to lean in and before our lips meet, I want you to gently part your mouth." As I leaned in, I studied Grace's face – vulnerable and trusting; she looked like a mere child, with her wide-set eyes and plump cherubic visage. I had done some pretty fucked up shit in my time, but destroying an innocent girl… I lightly sucked her bottom lip then pulled away. "Okay?" Grace slowly nodded in agreement; her eyes still closed. "Now this time I'm going to stick my tongue in your mouth. And when I do that, I want you to massage my tongue with yours." She nodded again as I leaned in a second time. I traced her lips with my tongue before I entered her mouth, and like all the times before, it was perfunctory. When the kiss deepened, she started to moan; and to hear a sound like that come from a girl like her, you didn't think it was possible. It was almost perverted. I pulled away.

"Wow…"

"Feels good, right?"

"Uh-huh." Grace had a pleasure and a passion on her face that was never there before. She was no longer the same person as she was two minutes ago. I had changed her forever, and there was no turning back.

"You know what will feel even better than a kiss here?" I said, lightly placing my finger upon her lips.

"What?" she asked with greedy curiosity.

My fingertips slowly glided their way down her neck to her chest to her abdomen, which contracted when she inhaled deeply as I continued down further, slower; and every inch of her tingled beneath confining fabric and I could not help but smile devilishly and then have a part of me feel sorry for doing it, but I did not care; I couldn't care as I leaned in and whispered softly in her ear, "A kiss down there."

Grace suddenly became uncomfortable again and clung on hard to what was left of her innocence. "I don't think so," she said, getting up to leave.

"C'mon, Grace." I got up and followed her. "What are you afraid of?" I blocked the door and smirked, joking, "It's not like you're going to get pregnant."

"No, I know… But…" Grace started to become afraid, but not because of my forwardness and blatant seduction, but because she could not find any reason against it.

"God, you're really beautiful," I said, my eyes carefully learning her delicate countenance.

"I am?"

"Yeah…" I gently caressed her face then stared at where my hand had touched. My eyes moved from her lips to her nose to finally her eyes, into which I stared as I whispered, "I wish I could study you… and become well-versed in every feature of your beauty."

"You do?"

I nodded slowly as I watched my hand delicately place a loose strand of hair behind Grace's ear. "All I want is to appreciate you and make you happy…" I lifted her chin with a gentle finger. "So won't you let me make you happy?"

"Okay," she whispered back, surrendering. It was too easy.

I smiled at her comfortingly. "Okay…" Then without warning, I seized upon her, fiercely kissing her as I dragged her back to the bed. I might have heard her whimper, but I couldn't stop. I had already started procedure. Every move was like a reflex action. My mind retreated into my instincts, and I was glad; because I was afraid to hear if she pleaded as I ravished her mercilessly, or cried out painfully when I tore away her innocence.

I let myself be captive to my own body; and even to myself, I was lost.


	13. Like a Swing to the Shins

_Author's Note_: BAM! Here's another chapter just for you. It's another set-up chapter, _but _Jessie does make an appearance and even interacts with Katie, although unwittingly. Read on to find out what I'm talking about. And I apologize for the ridiculously slow pace, not just writing-wise but for Katie as well – for someone so clever and articulate, she sure is a dumb ass when it comes to realizing what the hell her feelings are. _But_ she will come to terms with it eventually, I promise you. 

_Feedback_: Always appreciated. Always, always. If you have a problem with something, speak up as long as it's constructive. If you have any questions, I'm always glad to answer them. Or if you just want to blurt out any random comments, that's cool too because the more feedback I receive, the more I feel like updating. And praises won't hurt either.

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**PART XIII: Like a Swing to the Shins **

"Well?" I asked, arching my eyebrows partly due to curiosity and partly because I found Katie appealing in my scanty silk robe, which was coming loose as she bobbed down the marble staircase. It was dangerously short on me and Katie was two inches taller. When she approached in that seductive swagger of hers, it became increasingly apparent she wasn't wearing anything underneath. But she didn't try to cover up or tighten the ribbon around her waist. Katie was such a tease; a narcissist. She knew I was watching and loved it.

"Grace is now upstairs, asleep and naked in your bed," she said in a tone revealing she had done this many times before. "You may commence taking incriminating photos of her, as I have already done myself." Katie amazingly pulled out a handful of Polaroid pictures from a surreptitious pocket within the tiny robe like a rabbit from a top hat.

I flipped through Katie's photos of Grace in the nude, which were rather bland – in terms of subject, not composition. Then like a toy found at the bottom of a cereal box, there was the prize.

"Is she wearing a sombrero?" I asked, trying not to laugh as I held the last photograph which captured Grace, naked and unconscious, staged in an over-sized Mexican hat.

"Uh-huh," confirmed Katie, glancing at the photo.

"What's that next to her?" I asked, pointing to the small white circle by her face.

Katie took the photo from me in order to inspect it closer. She smiled. "Oh, it's a thought bubble that says, '¡Ay dios mío, Katie Singer es muy caliente!'" She noticed the incredulity on my face and shrugged. "I got bored."

"What's that say under it?" Our attention returned to the photo.

"'Me gusta mucho mucho sex…" Katie squinted to see better."'o.'"

"Well, well done, Singer," I said, genuinely satisfied.

"Please," scoffed Katie as she sauntered into the kitchen. "It's nothing to be proud about considering the _ridiculous_ lack of difficulty."

She pulled out a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator and drank directly from the spout.

"When has that ever stopped you from being proud of yourself?" I countered with a smirk. I studied the beads of sweat that ran down her neck as she titled her head up to drink. My gaze ran lower as one disappeared into the open crevasse between her breasts, but was interrupted when she brought down her head again, grimacing.

"Your orange juice is spoiled."

"No," I said, taking the carton from her. "It just has vodka mixed into it."

"You know you're an alcoholic when…" teased Katie.

I took a huge swig before offering it back to her. She held up a declining hand. I placed the carton back into the fridge, but not before taking another nip.

"Sorry you couldn't get it on video," said Katie out of the blue as she searched the overhead cupboards.

I furrowed my brow, lost at first, but then I remembered Grace's seduction and the distribution deal I planned to get out of it. "Oh, don't be," I said, picking a strand of hair off my cashmere sweater. It was brown and short. Wasn't mine. "I have a hidden camera installed in my room."

"Somebody went a little crazy with the voyeurism," said Katie as she inspected an unlabeled jar before frowning and promptly returning it to the shelf.

"No, that's always been there, even before I bugged Grace and Eli's houses."

Katie's body tensed. She turned to me; her mouth slightly agape. "Even when we…"

I smirked, recalling the memory of her. Us. "Uh-huh… And let me tell you, you are _very_ photogenic..." My gaze lowered again as I surveyed her body. "Especially your butt."

"That's vain and borderline creepy…" reproached Katie as she sat down on one of the high-backed stools by the counter. "Burn me a copy?"

"Sure."

I placed the paper bag which I had been holding onto the countertop and from it removed a take-out container, which I intended to put in the fridge. But Katie's hunger-filled eyes spotted it first.

"What's in the container?" she asked nonchalantly, trying not to alert my guard.

"Blackened chicken," I replied, discreetly pulling the container closer to me, my arms slowly huddling together. "I got it from the new Cajun restaurant on St. Mark's…"

"Thank god! I'm starving," said Katie, artfully snatching up the container.

"Hey!" I reached out my hands, trying to take it back.

"Ah-ah…" Katie held up her index finger in protest. "I do the deed. You provide the feed."

My eyes narrowed. "Please don't ever make a rhyme about sex again."

"No promises…" She pulled out a fork from the drawer and began to eat what was mine. I didn't mind as much, seeing as I would take what was hers when the opportunity arose.

My phone rang and I glanced at the caller ID. Instantly, my eyes widened. "Oh! Shh! It's Lily!" I shouted as a sudden surge of pleasure – no, not pleasure, but the anticipation of it – surfaced. "She's probably wondering what became of her daughter." I tried to compose myself, but it's hard to sound serious when excitement is building in your lungs, pressing against your throat, threatening to burst through. I exhaled a deep breath then unfolded my mobile. "Hello?"

"Shall we send her the pictures or the video?" asked Katie with a playful grin.

"Shh!" I commanded. I cupped my hand over the receiver to prevent Lily from hearing Katie or at least muffle Katie's voice from being discernible.

"I can compose the score myself…" she continued, rudely leaning closer to the phone in order to undermine my efforts. "Baum chicka waa wow. Boom chicka yeah yeah…"

I rolled up the paper bag and hit her with it. She laughed which provoked me to involuntarily smile. I turned away so I could concentrate on Lily's voice. It sounded worried; troubled; deeply hurt. She was hurt. Not physically, but emotionally, which is ten times greater and subsequently ten times more enjoyable, for me at least, because while physical scars can fade, emotional ones – they can last forever.

"No, Mrs. Manning. I haven't seen Grace…" The tremble in her voice grew. I reveled in her growing anxiety. "Yes. I'll call you when I do."

Katie stood up and dropped her fork in the now empty container. It amazed me how fast she ate. "I need to take a shower. I reek of idiot."

"Okay, take care now," I said calmly into the phone. "Bye!" I hung up my mobile and began to laugh riotously, releasing what I had held in for so long. It took every ounce of my restraint to prevent myself from confessing to Lily about Grace's whereabouts and what had happened to her dear, darling daughter. I wanted to tell her, but it wasn't out of guilt or compulsion to help her, but out of desire to torment her even more. In the end, however, I decided not knowing and only suspecting the horrors that could befall her daughter was worse, much worse.

The sound of suffering in one's voice is one of the most beautiful things in the world; second to actually seeing it in one's eyes. Simply the raw emotion of it; the pain. It exposed one's humanity; brought depth to her very soul. To know this person would never look at the world the same way again. Always doubting; always weary; walking scarred, with a limp. And to know you were the cause of this disillusionment; this _change _– it's the most empowering feeling. "Oh my god!" I squealed, grabbing the remote off the Italian marble countertop. "I need to see her face. This is fucking priceless!" I turned on the kitchen television, tuning in to the feed of the surveillance cameras.

"Sadist," teased Katie as she made her way out of the kitchen.

"Hypocrite," I countered to her retreating back.

Then like a swing to the shins, _she _appeared.

------

"Eli, can I talk to you?"

As soon as I heard that voice, I froze mid-step. That voice. Her voice. I hadn't heard it for days, but I recognized it instantly. I rewound what she had said in my mind, trying to process her; anything about her. '_Eli_…' She knew Eli? How? Through Sarah? No. Sarah never talked to Jessie. She hated mentioning the very name.

"What's up?"

Eli spoke with a light, comfortable tone. It was obvious Jessie visited him often. Were they friends? Lovers? Was he another obstacle I had to overcome? Another barrier of Jessie's denial that I had to break through?

I was afraid to turn around; to confirm what I suspected, so I stayed stood in the doorway, scrambling to hear her voice.

"There's this girl at school…" she finally said after a long maddening pause. "And– I don't know. Sometimes she just makes me so mad."

My heart quickened. There was no doubt she was talking about me.

"Why? Is she bullying you or something?"

What if she said that I had? Would he want to beat me up? Could I take him? I tried to size up Eli from my memory of him on the television. Compared his size to Grace's then mine to hers. He wasn't that much taller than me. A good charge to the stomach and he'd go down. My mind buzzed, strategizing different tactics until Jessie's voice interrupted again, gaining my full attention.

"No, no. Not really… Well, she made fun of Braden."

"What she say?"

Jessie let out an annoyed sigh. "Something stupid like his head is so big she can't believe he doesn't fall over or whatever."

Eli burst into laughter, which caused me to smile. He had my sense of humor and suddenly I didn't feel as threatened anymore.

"Eli!" Jessie scolded, and I could picture the red in her cheeks and the furrow between her eyebrows as she frowned.

"Sorry, but dude has a big head," said Eli bluntly. Jessie must have still been pouting because Eli promptly apologized. He then returned to the initial topic and asked, "So what's the problem?"

"I don't know." I turned around, no longer satisfied with her voice and my memory of her. I felt a need to see her; learn her face again.

Jessie sat on Eli's bed, cross-legged, as he lay back against the headboard. She was dressed in pajama pants and a white shirt whose graphic was faded and barely discernable. '_Why is she dressed in her pajamas?_' I wondered, '_Are they sleeping together?_' "She's just…" Jessie searched the ceiling before lowering her gaze to the cuff of her pants. She pulled at a loose thread. "That attitude. Like she knows me or something. And that smug grin of hers, how it just cricks up on one side and dimples against her stupid high cheekbones." Jessie lifted her head up again. Her eyes in a faraway gaze. "And the way she walks…" Jessie quickly shook her head, rattling unwanted thoughts so they could sink to the bottom of her subconscious. "Ugh! And whenever I see her, my– my face gets really hot and my heart beats like a mile a minute and– and she gets me so riled up I can barely speak…" Jessie inhaled deeply, winded from her rant. "Or breathe."

Eli studied Jessie; a smirk slowly creeping onto his lips. "Well, I don't think you're mad at her."

"No?" Jessie looked at Eli with a furrowed brow of disbelief.

"No, I think it's something much worse."

"It is?" Jessie sat up straight; her eyes wide with worry.

"Jessie…" he exhaled; a tone of hopelessness in his voice. "I think you're in love with her." He stared at Jessie gravely, which caused her whole body to tense, and in her eyes there seemed to be a flash of realization. But it only lasted a moment, interrupted when Eli released the laughter that he had been holding in.

Jessie relaxed and exhaled the breath that was trapped in the tension of her throat. "Ha-ha, very funny," said Jessie, not amused. And for some reason, I felt hurt. '_Would that be so funny?_'

"You're my big brother. Aren't you supposed to make me feel better?"

And suddenly I felt my heart noticeably stop, although brief, as my body arrested in shock, halting all air travel and subsequent blood circulation. '_Her brother?_'

"Do I look like mom to you?" he retorted, melodramatically feigning boorishness. He grabbed a yellow foam ball off his bedside table and threw it at her.

"Well, maybe if you put on a blonde wig," teased Jessie as she palmed the yellow ball. She gave it a squeeze then grinned at Eli. "And stuff your shirt with grapefruits…" She threw the ball back at him.

"It would bring a whole new meaning to 'fruit,'" joked Eli as he placed the ball underneath his shirt and examined the difference.

Jessie smiled half-heartedly. Her problem still was unresolved. "So what should I do?"

Eli studied his sister's troubled look and sighed. "The way I see it, you have two choices." He counted them off on his fingers. "You could either A) ignore her or B) talk to her and find out what's up between you guys."

Jessie's head fell tilted to the side as she closed her eyes and mulled over her two choices. After a moment, she shut her eyes tighter and inhaled deeply. "Can't I just go back and live with mom?"

'_No. Stay._'

"Aw, Jess, it's not that bad." Eli reached out a consoling hand and stroked his sister's arm. The yellow foam ball still sat beneath his shirt.

"Fine…" Jessie crawled off the bed, preparing to leave. "Rehearsals are tomorrow anyway. I'll inevitably _have_ to talk to her."

Finally Eli noticed the unusual elevation in his chest. After performing a self-mastectomy, he squeezed the ball in his hand and smiled.

"Will it make you feel better if I convince dad to wear a blonde wig and stuff grapefruits down his shirt?"

"Eli…"

I felt stupid for not realizing it earlier. He was her brother. Of course… He was her brother. Shit. This would undoubtedly complicate things. It connected Grace and Jessie and subsequently increased the chances of being discovered, not to mention the risk of being killed by Eli twice over. He was her brother. That was what Sarah was hinting at earlier in her annoyingly cryptic way. "More than you think," she had said in response to my comment on the incestuousness of the upper class. She knew Eli was Jessie's brother and she didn't tell me. '_Why?_' No, I knew why – because she was a cruel, sadistic bitch. She wanted me to find out on my own, and she wanted to be there when I did in order to savor the panic on my face. She loved inciting reactions; any reaction at all that acknowledged her existence and her power to control others, and I was no exception. In fact, I was her most favorite target of all – a difficult challenge greatly prized when won.

I was slipping. With Sarah knowing information before me, she had the upper hand. I had to gain more footing or I would inevitably fall… '_for her_.' No! What was I thinking? Love? I can't fall in love. Love was merely a tool of subjugation; a weakness that caused people to become dependent on each other. '_I can't fall in love. I won't. I refuse._' I decided to hurry up and get the wager over with so I could once more be the one on top; so I could finally forget about Jessie. With every passing day, she gained more and more control of reason for my every thought; my every action. I couldn't let this happen. And what was this burning feeling weighing heavy in my chest whenever she withdrew from me? This pain at the back of my eyes on the verge of pouring through?

"There it is," said Sarah, awakening me from my reverie. She was studying my face intently as a devilish grin curled the corners of her lips. "The most beautiful thing in the world."


	14. Setting Up for a Fall

_Author's Note_: I'm baaack. It hasn't been three months yet, has it?

_Author's Note 2_: The dashes symbolize a change in narrative voice.

_Author's Note 3: _Italicized words in ' ' are thoughts.

_Feedback_: Greatly appreciated.

* * *

**PART XIV: Setting Up for a Fall**

Uncharacteristically, I showed up early for rehearsals. Then again, _having _rehearsals to show up for was never a characteristic of mine, period. I had never gone through this much trouble to get a girl. Jessie was changing me, and it had to stop. Soon. '_Soon…"Soon, soon, I shall be with you, and then I shall know no sorrow, only what is yours shall be mine." Oh my god, no._' I shook my head and started pacing. '_Where is she? Where is she?_' Showing up early, I convinced myself, was a tactical device that would give me the advantage. This way I would be aware of when Jessie comes in and would subsequently be able to track her every movement. In NO way was I eager to see her again face-to-face rather than through a television screen which is so fucking small one can barely see the enthrallingly blue of her eyes or her little birthmark just on her left cheek. I stopped. There was a tug on my arm. Tad's lips moved and sound came from them, but all I focused on was the glass over his shoulder which by the light from above reflected the entrance doors far behind me.

'_Joanna Franco…kiss…sex… What?_' "What?"

There was a shimmer in the glass. I felt the corners of my mouth start to rise.

"This isn't funny," said Tad, angry about something.

"What?" I turned to him, lost.

"What? What?" repeated Tad, annoyed. "Are you even listening to me? I just told you TWICE that Joanna Franco said if I tried to kiss her, she would make it physically impossible for me to have sex. And you're SMILING? Not cool!" Tad stormed away.

"What was that about?" asked a voice, slightly wavering with nervousness. The enthrallingly blue eyes appeared transparent in the glass like a foreboding specter.

For a while, I found myself staring at the glass. It reminded me of the mirrored shield of Athena which she had bequeathed to her half-brother, Perseus, so he could look upon Medusa whose very gaze could petrify a man. '"_Take my shield," she said, "and remember that you must use it as a mirror to see her reflection before you strike."'_

'_Strike,_' I urged myself.

"I'm not really sure," I said, carefully turning around. "But you know me; I'm a magnet for the melodrama. Why, people berating me on stage seems to be a common occurrence in my life." I daringly met her eyes, and struck with a pointed smile.

Jessie tried to counteract it with her own, but ultimately faltered and dropped her gaze in defeat. "About that…" Her eyebrows knitted closely together as if her thoughts weighed heavy in her head and tightening her brow would keep them from falling out all at once. Jessie took a moment before nodding slightly as if encouraging herself that it was OK. "I'm really sorry –"

"No, it's all right." I smiled and waved her off forgivingly. "Forget it. You were just pointing out the truth." I kicked at a scuff on the stage's hardwood floor. A part of it disappeared from the friction of my rubber sole. "And finally… I am able to come to terms with it." I looked up at Jessie. My eyes squinted against the harsh overhead light that one of the stagehands had just turned on as if on cue. I inhaled deeply. "Hi, my name is Katie Singer and I'm a pompous, bi-polar jerk."

Jessie let out a small laugh. "Hi, Katie," she replied monotonously, imitating a member of a support group newly converted and lobotomized. She smiled despite herself.

"Ah, so by that smile, I gauge you aren't mad at me anymore."

She took a pause to take me in. "You're getting there."

"Then maybe this will help." I tugged open my sleeves to show that there was nothing up them then waved my empty hands in front of her.

"What are you doing?" she asked, laughing at my theatrics.

I held up a hand, signaling her to wait, while I brought the other behind my back.

"Voilà!" I held out a small white box that had a red bow with intricate gold engravings tied around it. Jessie's eyes widened then met mine with incredulity, uncertain if it was a trick. I smiled comfortingly and nudged the gift toward her. "Go on."

"What is it?" she asked, tentatively taking the box which nearly matched her dainty, porcelain white hands.

"A small token of apology."

Jessie carefully tugged on the bow and it unraveled easily. She then opened the box and pulled from it a blue-glassed perfume bottle. She inhaled a breath of awe and smiled to herself. "It's my favorite. How did you know?" Not only did I know it was her favorite, but also that she was in need of a new one. Sarah had routed the feed from the hidden surveillance cameras in the Sammler's and Manning's houses to my own receptor. "Use it to your advantage," Sarah advised me. "As I will to mine," she added cryptically.

"I noticed it the first time we almost kissed," I said, taking a few steps closer. I studied Jessie's face – her deep china blue eyes; her voluptuous glossy red lips – and had the sudden impulse to kiss her. I fought it. However, my body was unable to resist its desire to touch her, so I could only watch as my finger slowly glided across her ashen cheek, catching itself on a stray strand of golden hair, which it gently tucked behind her ear. Jessie didn't flinch. She didn't recoil from my rogue appendage. She merely stood, studying the glossy cracks in between the stage's wooden boards. My finger finally pulled away, tracing the smooth outline of her jaw as it did. I swallowed the growing lump in my throat and whispered, "It's been haunting me ever since."

"I told you…" Jessie choked out, "nothing happened." She hesitantly took a few steps away from me, which might as well be to the other side of the world.

"Are we still going to pretend that there's nothing more than friendship between us?" I asked cynically.

"Look, Katie." Jessie stared at the perfume bottle intently as she carefully placed it back into the box. She outstretched her arm, signaling me to take back the gift. Her gift. "Maybe you should…"

"No, keep it." I pushed the box toward her with a gentle hand. "I bought it for you, so you should keep it. Anyway, it will drive me mad having it around." I let out a small laugh. "Can you imagine? To have the scent of you pervading my room, forever reminding me of…" I thought of my room and its nearest escape – a high-ledged balcony which overlooked a jagged bed of rocks. I exhaled the breath that I held in place of the word I kept in. "Just keep it."

Before Jessie could protest or otherwise, Miss Lafleur entered the room, asking everyone to get ready. "All right, let's start with a dry read. Everyone grab a chair from the back, and let's form a circle." Abruptly the auditorium resonated with the sounds of people shuffling and chairs being dragged along the floor. "Is everybody here? I see my Benedick and Beatrice." Suddenly Jessie and I realized we were the only ones standing still. Jessie moved to get a chair, but Tad conveniently appeared with one in each hand.

"Here, Jess." Tad placed the chairs next to each other. "I got you one." He sat down then gestured for her to take the other.

"Thanks, Tad," said Jessie, a little reluctant. I saw her glance at me as if to check if it was all right, or perhaps she was hoping that I would propose a better offer.

I was about to walk up to her when I felt someone grab my hand. It was a woman's hand – soft; tiny.

"You can sit next to me," said a seductive, throaty voice. I felt her index finger start to draw slow, lazy circles around my palm. Without turning around, I already knew who it was.

"Joanna, hey…" I drawled. I was met by a pair of intensely blue eyes, which were made prominent by the dark raven hair that framed her face in long, unruly curls. I smiled nostalgically. "Wow, I haven't seen you since…"

"Since you fucked me at Russell's party and never called me back?"

"Has it been that long?"

Joanna nodded, smiling dumbly, as she turned her gaze to the floor and walked a few steps closer. She lifted her head up not that far from mine. Her eyes were even more striking up close. Her pupils were like large obsidian stones perfectly encircled by crystal blue waters. "I miss you," she breathed out.

This was a sentiment that was always given but never shared. "Thanks," I replied reflexively. "That's sweet."

"C'mon…" As she walked passed me, she entwined her fingers with mine, forcing me to turn around. "Let's sit down."

It was then that I noticed Jessie was staring at us. When I met her eyes, they quickly returned to Tad who was animatedly talking about God knows what. I smiled. "OK." I let Joanna lead me past Jessie who tried to surreptitiously steal glances of us, but her lack of experience and skill gave her away. '_This will work._' We sat down almost a quarter-turn from Tad and Jessie.

"All right, I have my Claudio," Miss Lafleur pointed to Tad with her pencil before checking him off on her sheet. She then pointed at Joanna. "My Hero." Although everyone focused their gaze on Joanna due to the unexplainable need to turn our heads in the direction of where someone points, Jessie's was the one that held longer than usual. She was studying Joanna as if doing so would enable her to learn something about me. '_Yes, this will work indeed._'

"Did you ever know that you're my hero?" belted out Russell in his best diva impression with the requisite hand waving in the air while the other holds in an imaginary earpiece.

"Thank you, Russell, but this is not a musical," chided Miss Lafleur.

"He wishes," quipped Tad.

"Oh, ha ha," said Russell, not amused. "I get it. I'm gay, so I innately love musicals. Why, aren't you clever?"

"Your mom!"

Russell shook his head in pity at Tad's poor attempt at a comeback. "That's really sad, man."

"Your mom is a sad man!"

Russell slapped Tad across the back of his head. The room filled with snickering. I always wondered why Tad insisted on insulting Russell, and if he did – why sit next to him?

"OK, boys, let's save the conflict for the stage," said Miss Lafleur, looking sternly over her clipboard. She tipped her pencil toward Russell without looking up. "Don John…" She made another checkmark on her sheet. "Don Pedro…" Check.

"Don Corleone," added Tad, still failing at being clever.

"Man, shut up." Another slap across the back of Tad's head. Check.

"OK, all we're missing is Ursula." Everyone looked around expectantly as if the actress would magically appear out of nowhere. "Has anyone seen…?"

"Here I am." Suddenly there was a hush amongst the group, and the echo of slow, high-heeled footsteps on linoleum was all one could hear. '_Oh god…_'

"Sarah, you're late."

"I know," said Sarah in a mock-apologetic tone. "I'm sorry, but I wanted to make a surprise entrance." This evoked another bout of snickering. Sarah winked at me as she walked up to Miss Lafleur and handed her a slip of paper. "I have a late pass."

Miss Lafleur quickly scanned the paper before dismissing Sarah. "OK, take a seat, Ursula."

"Dude, you're playing the fat-ass, purple-skinned, half-octopus bitch?"

"That's _The Little Mermaid_, dumb ass!" Russell delivered yet another blow. I didn't see the point in hitting Tad in the head after he made a dim-witted comment. It was a retrogressive method, if you asked me.

Tad dropped his hands on his lap in anger. "Dude, not cool!" He tried to smooth down the growing bump at the back of his head. "I could be bleeding internally."

"Don't tease me," said Russell.

Sarah took the empty seat beside me.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I whispered angrily.

"What the fuck are you doing sitting next to Joanna Franco?" asked Sarah, more amused than angry. I glanced at Joanna. She was absently playing with my fingers. I then looked over at Jessie. She seemed intensely focused on our intertwining hands. Her eyebrows were knitted in troubled thought.

"You know all these guys are gay or Tad," I said, turning my attention back to Sarah.

"Who said I'm here for the guys?" she countered, annoyingly raising her eyebrows in that stupid smug look of hers.

"What girl have you possibly been attracted to besides me?"

"Maybe that's the point," she added in her usual cryptic way.

'_What the fuck!_' I was about to voice my thoughts, when Miss Lafleur interrupted.

"OK, if you all are about done with your private conversations, I would like to begin." She glared at Sarah and me. Neither of us gave a fuck, but we didn't continue anyway. '_The sooner we start this, the sooner we can leave. "Soon, soon…"_'

------

"Think not on him till to-morrow: I'll devise thee brave punishments for him. Strike up, pipers," read Katie, hurrying through the last line of the play. Everyone closed their books then looked up expectantly at Miss Lafleur.

After writing a few notes within the margin of her book, Miss Lafleur stood up and smiled. "All right, good job, everybody! I'll see you all next week."

There was a unanimous sigh of relief. Everyone got up and collected their things.

"All right, rehearsal after-party at my house!" exclaimed Tad. He raised his arms up in celebration, which made him look like an orangutan.

"What's so special about this rehearsal?" scoffed Russell as he placed his book into a small pocket of his bag whose size seemed fit for exactly that purpose.

"It's over. Duh…" Tad turned his attention to Jessie who was buttoning up a gray sweater that I swore my grandmother donated to the Salvation Army. "Jess, you coming?"

"Uh…" She tucked that annoying strand of hair that never seems to stay put in that salute-to-librarians bun of hers behind her ear. She smiled awkwardly.

"C'mon, it'll be really fun," goaded Tad.

"Yeah. Tad's mom's an alcoholic, so he has the best stash," teased Russell.

"Dude, you're so not invited."

"Dude, I so don't care." Russell threw his bag over his shoulder and jumped off the stage.

"Ignore him," said Tad, waving his hand dismissively toward Russell's retreating figure. "Katie's going to go. Right, Katie?" He called out to her, causing everyone within earshot to focus on her.

Katie was standing completely still, while Joanna Franco was hanging all over her. Although Katie had a hand on Joanna's waist, it was only to keep her a safe distance away. "C'mon, it'll be fun," said Joanna, tugging on Katie's jacket collar before crossing her arms behind Katie's neck. The girl was such a skank.

"Fine, Tad," relented Katie.

"Whoo!" shouted Tad, pumping his fist into the air.

"Whoo…" mimicked Katie half-assedly.

"See?" Tad turned back to Jessie and smiled at her smugly.

She raised her hands up in submission. "OK, I guess." Jessie started to dig through her hideous bulky backpack from L.L. Bean or wherever hideous bulky backpacks go to die. "I just got to call my dad first."

"All right! Whoo!" shouted Tad again, except this time he pumped both fists into the air. Jessie held up her index finger to her lips then pointed to her mobile. "Oh, sorry," whispered Tad.

Tad was surveying the room for anyone he might have missed when he noticed me off to the side, rummaging in my new Balenciaga motorcycle handbag. I was in search of my mobile which had been vibrating all day. He probably thought that I was getting ready to leave because he asked, "Sarah, are you not going to go?"

I gave up on my search and exhaled a tired breath. I then looked up at Tad and smiled. "And miss the show?" Tad looked bewildered by my comment. I clarified by nodding in the direction of what I had been hinting at. Tad turned his body and finally took note of the impending love triangle that would no doubt explode to melodramatic proportions. Drama always seemed to follow Katie, much like everyone else. Jessie was hanging up her mobile when she noticed Katie leading Joanna off-stage hand-in-hand. She bit her lip then looked down at a white box which she cradled in her hands. No doubt it was a present from Katie. It was a classic tactic – planting affection with a gift then letting it grow with jealousy. I could not believe Jessie was naïve enough to fall for such a cliché. I could not help laughing. The girl was pathetic. She would undoubtedly fall, hard. And "Babe, I wouldn't miss it for the world."


	15. Take It Easy Love Nothing

_Author's Note:_ Since I made you wait twice as long as I usually do, I wrote twice as more. (About 20 pgs. on Word) Enjoy!

_Author's Note 2:_ The dashes mean either a change in narrative or time (mostly due to the site not letting me double return). I know this might make things a little confusing but hopefully you'll catch on to what's what.

_Author's Note 3:_ Italicized sentences in ' ' are thoughts.

_Feedback:_ Greatly appreciated.

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**PART XV: Take It Easy (Love Nothing)**

"_Now I do as I please, and I lie through my teeth. / Someone might get hurt, but it won't be me. / I should probably feel cheap, but I just feel free / And a little bit empty…_"

– Bright Eyes,_ Take It Easy (Love Nothing)_

Entering Tad's red brick Italianate mansion, I was met by the warmth of recycled breath and the smell of sex. Rhythmic beats of a pop song shook the walls and caused those who heard it to dance or, if they were not aware of it, to sway thoughtlessly as if it was instinctive. Lyrics about dancing with sexual connotations were repeated over and over again as if they were a primitive chant; a part of a mating ritual for the contemporary adolescent.

As I made my way to the bar, gingerly side-stepping those who were already far beyond the dance rite, I felt a tug on my arm. Although I could tell it was a woman's hand, her touch was too tentative to be Joanna's.

When I turned around, her blue eyes widened as if she could not believe she was able to get to where she was. I smiled at her, which caused her to ease slightly. Her tense fist disassembled into loosened fingers. She smiled. "Hi."

"Hi," I mirrored back then laughed as if out of awkwardness, but I would never truly feel awkward.

"Did you–" The rest of her sentence was drowned out by the music.

"What?" I asked. But when she repeated her question, I was still unable to understand what she had said. I gestured in the direction of the bar, which was away from the blaring speakers. She nodded.

------

"'Did you just get here?' she repeated for the third time and final time."

I laughed. It seemed like something you were supposed to laugh at. "Yeah. You know…" I shrugged as though it were nothing. "Fashionably late and all that."

I helped her up onto one of the tall bar stools before taking the one next to her. She had clumsily tried to do it on her own, but was amusingly unable to lift her butt over the edge of the seat. "Why are bar stools so anti-" she was careful with her choice of words, "not-as-tall people?"

"If you saw how amusing you were trying to sit on one of them, you'd know exactly why," I teased. She playfully hit me. "Ow," I whined, gingerly rubbing my arm.

"What?" she asked, not believing for a moment that she had hurt me.

"Short people are vindictive."

She opened her mouth, feigning offense, but before she could voice a retort, the bartender came by, sporting the clichéd rag over the shoulder. "Hypnotiq on the rocks," I said before he could even ask. I turned toward Jessie. "Do you want anything?"

"Water, please," she said then blushed slightly as if she was embarrassed to order such a plain beverage. "_Sparkling_ water," she quickly added. I smiled.

When the bartender handed us our drinks, Jessie gaped at the turquoise liquid with childlike fascination. "What _is_ that?"

"Hypnotiq? It's kind of like a wine cooler." '_Except stronger_,' I failed to add. "You'd like it."

"I don't–"

Before she could decline, I handed her the drink with a coaxing smile. "Here, take it." Wordlessly, she did as I had insisted. "So what's up?"

"Tad's cat," she said casually as she peered into the glass after taking a tentative sip.

"What?" I drank the sparkling water, which would have tasted better with sloe gin and a few ounces of lemon juice, but I needed to be fully alert and effective when dealing with Jessie.

"Ajay and Tad were having a fight over by the pool about whether or not cats could land on their feet, and Tad said that they can, but Ajay wouldn't believe him."

"So Tad threw his cat onto the roof?" I asked with a feigned look of shock to cover up the amusement I found in the image of Tad chucking his cat into the air just so he could prove that he was right.

"No. Then Tad said that Ajay was 'mad stupid,'" I knitted my eyebrows and smiled, slightly caught off-guard by the disarming way Jessie had slowly enunciated 'mad stupid.' "which made Ajay mad."

"So _he_ chucked Tad's cat on the roof."

"No!" Jessie became more excited and reflexively leaned closer to me. "Then Ajay made a reference to Tad's 'mama.'"

"Oh no! Not the 'yo mama' card," I said with exaggerated dread, silently noting our increased proximity.

"Uh-huh." Her speech quickened into a feverish pace. "So Tad pushed Ajay over a lawn chair, and he _tripped _and KNOCKED into Cynthia, who then fell into the pool and SPLASHED cold water all over Alexa, who, IN SHOCK, _threw _her cup in the air and spilt beer all over Marni's _head_."

"Poor Marni," I said, not knowing who Marni was or ever really caring; only because it felt like the proper thing to say.

"Yeah," said Jessie with genuine sympathy. "But she's okay. I convinced her that washing your hair with beer was good for it."

"It adds body and shine." I flipped my hair, mocking the semi-famous actresses who get paid millions of dollars to become spokespeople for hair products that they would never normally use.

"And it makes you smell just like Lindsay Lohan!" announced Jessie in the sensational voice of advertising.

"Actually, she smells more of cigarettes and vanilla," I nostalgically added, remembering the taste of her skin and the pleasurable sting of her deep red fingernails – the same color as the blood she drew from my back. '_I love overhead mirrors._'

"What?"

"Nothing." I cleared my throat and returned focus to the elaborate story that had not yet answered the question: "So how did the cat end up on the roof?"

"Oh, by climbing up the drain pipe," said Jessie, as if it was a minor detail.

I stared at her incredulously. "So what was with the whole spiel?"

"After seeing all the commotion, Tad's cat _freaked_ out and ran to the safest place possible."

"The roof?" I asked, hinting at the fact that the top of a three-story drop wasn't exactly the brightest of choices.

"I know. Tad tried to get her down, but every time he got near her, she would take a swipe at him. I think he said she was in heat or something."

"Poor Tad. He can't even get a horny cat to go near him."

Jessie smiled and exhaled a small laugh through her nose. Then there was an awkward silence. As I took another sip from my glass and surveyed the room, she finally asked, "So where's Joanna?"

With my head still turned to one side, I smirked on the side that Jessie could not see. "Oh," I said, acting as though I had almost forgotten. "I'm meeting her here."

Jessie nodded then looked into her glass, contemplating whether she should verbalize the curiosity already present in her face. "So are you guys…" She paused mid-sentence, hoping that she could finish her question with a look.

"What?" I said, playing as if I didn't know what she was getting at.

"You know… Um, dating?"

"Joanna's not really the type who dates."

"Then what would she… Oh." Jessie's face fell, realizing what else one could do besides date in order to maintain a romantic relationship.

"Yeah. But no. We don't…" I avoided saying the word 'fuck' for Jessie's comfort. Even with its absence, her face began to flush. "Not anymore."

"But you and Joanna used to…"

"Together? Or with other people? Or together with other people?"

"Katie…"

"Yes, we used to… be romantically involved… together." Then slightly, ever so slightly, a tinge of jealousy flashed across Jessie's face. And although it was small, it was savored, like a droplet of water on Tantalus' tongue.

Jessie traced her finger around the rim of her glass, creating a low hum. "Isn't it weird being around your ex all the time? I mean, wouldn't it be?"

I shrugged. "It's just like a room full of pink elephants."

"What?"

"You know the idiom 'the pink elephant in the corner' for like a problem…"

"That everyone tries to ignore…"

"Yeah, so it feels kind of awkward?" Jessie nodded then remained silent, understanding the idiom but wanting to hear the end of my point. "Well, if you're in a room _full_ of pink elephants and wherever you go, there are _always_ pink elephants – pink elephants in the hallways, pink elephants in the streets, pink elephants on the trains, planes, automobiles, whatever… You kind of forget that they're there."

Jessie took a moment to process what I had said about ex's and pink elephants and the room being full of them then narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "How many pink elephants are in this room right now?"

"None. What am I? Fucking crazy?"

Jessie laughed, but I could tell by the way her eyelids dropped that she was not satisfied by my answer. I could have told her the more direct truth, but she had not asked me the more direct question. And I liked it better that way. '_Ask me no questions, and I tell you no lies,_' I thought to say, but was interrupted when I heard my name being called by a distinct voice amongst the din.

"There you are!" cried Joanna, emerging from the crowd with her hands raised high in the air.

"Here I am!" I said, with widened eyes and a gaping smile, mocking her over-the-top excitement.

"Have you been hiding from me?" she asked as she placed a hand on her hip and the other on my lap. Jessie became uneasy by our contact.

"Never. I just got here. Ask Jessie."

Joanna's smile faded when she finally noticed her. "Oh, hey, Jessie," she said out of politeness.

"Hi, Joa–"

Cutting her off, Joanna possessively took my hand and leaned in close. When she wet her lips, the tip of her tongue touched my ear. "C'mon, I want to show you something," she whispered.

"OK, but I'm talking to Jessie right now."

Joanna looked at Jessie and cocked her head to the side, gauging how much of a threat she could be. If she proved to be an obstacle, Joanna would have no hesitance in pushing her out of the way. Rather than sidestepping, Joanna liked to take problems head on, sometimes literally. This could not be said about Jessie.

"That's OK. I can talk to you later," she said, quickly backing down. Joanna retracted her claws.

"Are you sure?" I asked, offering her a final chance.

"Uh-huh."

I was disappointed she gave up so easily. I stood up from my seat, but waited a while to see if she would protest at the last minute. Instead, Joanna tugged on my arm, growing impatient.

"C'mon, let's go!"

"All right, all right. Calm down." I smiled at Jessie as I reached for my glass. "I'll see you later, Jess."

She meekly raised up her hand with a polite half-smile. "Bye," she said. But I could barely hear her as Joanna led me away into the noisy crowd with her arms tucked around my neck. She walked backwards, her eyes never leaving me. And every time she stepped on someone, she laughed.

------

I arrived at the party later than I would have liked, way past when it was fashionable. I would have arrived earlier if it wasn't for Keith's disappearance. I called for him to bring up my car several times, but no one responded. When someone named Robert, whom I don't remember ever seeing before, although he insisted I had, finally drove my SLR McLaren to the front of the house, I told him to fire Keith immediately.

With all my time wasted on tracking down AWOL valets and waiting for someone to bring me my goddamned car, I hadn't had time to replenish myself and was in critical need of a drink. I pushed my way through groping couples and stepped on a few people already passed out on the floor.

"Jack and Coke," I barked at the bartender. "No, fuck the Coke. Just replace it with more Jack."

"So you want a Jack and Jack?"

"Are you trying to be funny?" I asked, not in the least bit amused. "Do you see me laughing?"

"No." The bartender shook his head, suddenly regretting his words.

"No," I said gently. "That's why you're a bartender and not a fucking comedian, so why don't you just do your job and get me my goddamned drink, OK?" I gave him a patronizing smile. "And no ice. The ice just waters it down." Without another word, he scurried off.

"Hi, Sarah," said a voice I could not tolerate at the moment.

"Hey–" I couldn't bring myself to say her name. "You."

I heard the promising sound of glass sliding on polished wood. "Here's your drink, Miss."

"Thank fucking Christ."

I grabbed the glass, welcoming the slick feel of cool condensation, and knocked back the concoction in three huge gulps. The warmth of it going down was soothing. I closed my eyes and let out a highly-satisfied sigh.

"Would you like another?"

I opened my eyes, newly revitalized. "Why, yes I would." I smiled and handed him a fifty as a sign of gratitude and encouragement. "See? Isn't it great to stick with what you're good at?" Calmed by the much needed alcohol, I turned to Jessie with a saccharine smile, finally able to deal with the incompetence of the world. "So where's Katie?" I asked, remembering why I had gone through so much torture to attend Tad's trivial event.

"Over by Laughie McLaugherson," said Jessie, almost bitterly. She took a swig from her drink. It was then that I noticed the half-empty glass of Hypnotiq in her hand. I had no doubts Katie was the one who offered it to her. Jessie seemed like the type to keep away from all things fun. I was disappointed in Katie for using the aid of alcohol in her pursuit. It was an amateur tactic. But I suppose she needed to pull out all the stops when dealing with Mrs. Jesus.

"What?" I asked, finding Jessie's pathetic insult for Joanna more absurd than her actual statement.

She nodded toward the cozy couple in the corner sitting on an armchair designed for one person. Joanna sat with her legs across Katie's lap and held herself up by wrapping her arm around Katie's shoulders. The hem of Joanna's skirt had bunched up to just under her ass, and Katie's hand rested there. She must have said something funny because Joanna started laughing hysterically, resting her head in the crook of Katie's neck. Katie smiled and looked at Jessie before leaning her head against Joanna's. She whispered something into her ear. Joanna laughed even harder.

Becoming terribly self-conscious, Jessie sat up straight and accidentally knocked over a perfectly good bottle of Grey Goose with her elbow. It fell to the floor with a loud crash followed by an expletive from the bartender. People briefly turned their attention to the minor commotion, causing Jessie to turn beet red. When she met Katie's eyes, she immediately looked down and unhinged her jaw, tensely moving it from side to side. Deep breaths emitted from her mouth. With her head still bent toward the floor, Jessie glanced in Katie's direction. The two were back to their toothy laughter; the kind that precedes heavy petting. "I wonder what's so funny," asked Jessie, with genuine curiosity.

"So let's find out." I quickly downed my second drink then began to move from my seat.

"What?"

"HEY, KATIE!" I took Jessie's arm and pulled her off the stool and delighted in the way she almost fell.

"Oh my god. No, no." Jessie's eyes darted from left to right in desperation. She continued to protest as I dragged her away, but that only made me walk faster. "What are you–" Suddenly we were standing in front of Katie and a suspicious Joanna. "Hi, again," said Jessie to her shoes.

"Hello," said Katie cautiously. She glared at me, knowing what I was up to. "What's going on?"

"We were over there looking at you. Well, _I_ was looking at you. Jessie was more longingly staring at you." Jessie's jaw fell slightly. She looked at Katie then to me in disbelief. "_Both _of you actually. Because you two seemed like you were having just the _greatest _time." I clasped my hands together with a beaming smile for emphasis. Jessie's face was now a lovely shade of embarrassment that I would have liked to turn into a crayon and share with all the children of the world. Katie, however, was not as delighted by Jessie's reaction as I had been. She was quite the opposite actually. And I loved it.

Feeling bad for Jessie, Katie took her hand off of Joanna's leg and placed it onto the arm of the chair. "Point, Sarah," she insisted, her face delightfully becoming more peeved.

"She just wanted to know what was so funny," I said innocently.

"Your face!" shouted an obnoxious voice from behind me. Katie laughed simply to spite me.

"Fuck you, Tad," I retorted, not annoyed so much as tired of his childish interjections.

He snaked his arm around my waist. "You promise?" I tried to elbow him in his ribs, but, being used to women violently rebuffing his advances, he anticipated my attack and grabbed my elbow with his hand. "Ooh, feisty."

I yanked my arm free from his grasp. "What do you want, Tad?"

"Have any of you guys seen Russell?"

Joanna tried to hold back her laughter. "Nooo. Nope." Katie poked her in the side, which released a fit of giggles. Everyone looked at her curiously, except for me. I was just annoyed. "What?"

"I thought he wasn't coming," volunteered Jessie.

Tad deflated slightly. "Oh. Okay. That's cool." He then leered at us and began to wrap his arms around me and Jessie, but quickly checked his actions when I threatened to take away a certain part of his anatomy needed to sire progeny (which I now realize might have done the world a favor). He shuffled away from me while still trying to seem cool. "If any of you ladies want to join in the festivities, we're going to be doing body shots in the pool house in five minutes."

"I know who _you _want to do in five minutes," said Joanna suggestively under her breath.

"What?" Tad genuinely didn't hear her.

Katie signaled Joanna to keep quiet, but Joanna was obviously drunk and could not help blurting out, "Russell!" before exploding into a fit of insane laughter.

Tad grew even more bewildered and a little scared (which was collective amongst those opposite the armchair), but before he could react or even figure out how to react, Katie distracted him by pointing to a group of guys carrying in a small aluminum barrel.

"Hey Tad, look! A keg! Woo!"

Tad whipped around and pumped his fists in the air. "KEG! WOO!" And like howls to wolves, the pack of dim-witted oafs "WOO!"-ed back, accepting Tad to join them on their journey to the pool house.

"What was that about?" asked Jessie.

"I ran out of shiny objects to throw, but moving kegs work just as well."

"I think she was referring to Laughie McLaugherson's homosexual innuendo."

"Laughie McLaugherson?" questioned Joanna, who while even drunk found the insult to be exceedingly lame.

I shrugged innocently. "It's _Jessie's _nickname for you."

Joanna quickly turned to Jessie with a venomous stare, but to my disappointment Katie was able to once again deter any confrontation with a change of focus.

"We think Tad and Russell have an underlying sexual tension that underpins their friendship."

I rolled my eyes. "Must every friendship have some underlying sexual tension with you?"

"With me? No. Not every friendship _must _have an underlying sexual tension _with _me," said Katie, pointing out the easily malleable wording of my sentence like a smart ass. "But I can't help that there is." With an arrogant grin, she looked toward Jessie.

Her suggestive gaze made Jessie quickly shuffle her weight from one foot to the other. Jessie then stood up straight, retched a little then said, "I need to go to the bathroom," and fled.

"I guess you're not the sex god you think you are, Singer," I teased.

"But that doesn't keep you from wanting me."

I exhaled a breath scoffingly, while I gritted my teeth, secretly knowing that she was… maybe, perhaps… right. Still, I was prepared to retort with a sharp comeback but was deviated by a familiar and annoying shrill that came from the other side of the room and was fast approaching.

"SARAH!" whined Grace desperately. "Where have you been?" She clung onto my arm, but I swatted her away. "Ow."

"Hello, Grace," said Katie with a mischievous smirk. She brought her drink to her lips and fished out a hollow cylindrical piece of ice with her tongue and sucked on it for a while before biting hard with a satisfying crunch.

"Hey, Katie," murmured Grace, suddenly becoming uncomfortable and subsequently quiet. '_Thank God._'

"Who's the spaz?" snickered Joanna.

"Joanna, be nice," warned Katie, as if addressing a child.

"Whatever."

Grace turned her back to the couple on the armchair. "Why aren't you answering your phone?" she asked me in an angered whisper. "I've been trying to reach you all day!" '_So that's why my new Balenciaga handbag had been vibrating every two minutes._'

"I can't find it," I explained. "Even after I emptied out my purse, I could still feel it vibrating inside. It's like it melded with my bag." I reached into my Chanel clutch and pulled out a silver sequined handheld device with a flat screen LCD monitor across its face. "I've been reduced to using my Sidekick as my primary phone."

"The world weeps for you," said Katie sardonically, obviously eavesdropping on our conversation.

"Oh, that sucks!" piped up Joanna with sincere commiseration. "I hate when that happens." Katie glowered at her with annoyance. "What? You're supposed to use it _with_ your other phone. That's why they call it a _sidekick_."

"How I pity the future of our youth."

"When you say 'our,' you do mean in the universal sense, right?" I asked, not being able to picture Katie as a mother and fearing Joanna ever becoming one.

"Sarah!" hissed Grace, pulling my attention away from Katie.

"What! What is it?"

"Can I please talk to you somewhere else? _In private_?"

------

Grace carefully peered her head inside. We were outside the last room on the third floor. All the others we had checked out were occupied by people in various stages of nudity and copulation. '_If I see another bare hairy ass of one of Tad's jock friends, I swear! I will become strictly gay FOR LIFE_… _or for at least three weeks._'

"This place is good," confirmed Grace, walking in. It was a study, which I'm sure Tad had rarely been in and consequently none of his jock friends. It would be hard for one to get hot and heavy in a room where the only busts around were that of old dead men. It had the clichéd floor-to-ceiling bookcases built into its walls (although they were not nearly as tall as Katie's; and many of the books seemed to have been hollow fill-ins) as well as the 19th century mahogany desk creatively paired with the 19th century mahogany desk chair. There was the ivory standing globe whose purpose was far from being a geographic aid and the built-in marble fireplace that was never used. And to top it all off, there were the requisite trimmings – the rare antique mantle clock, the million dollar paintings and the mounted head of the endangered black rhinoceros acquired during a big game hunt in Eastern Africa. It was a study straight from the pages of a Charlotte Brontë novel, matched piece by piece.

"So what's your damage?" I asked, sitting on the Victorian-style couch in the middle of the room, conveniently located by the drink cart. I poured myself a quarter glass of scotch, not so much to numb the irritation of Grace's voice as to protect her from my ripping her throat out because of it.

"Something awful happened the other day," she said, falling into the seat beside me.

"What do you mean?" My ears perked up along with my mood. The only thing that she could have been referring to was Katie's successful seduction of her. Although it had happened at my house, on my own bed no less, Grace assumed that I didn't know, for that day after Katie left and Grace was still asleep in my room, I had gone to visit a friend to indulge in, let's say, the benefits of our friendship. When I came back she was already gone. I told the maid to burn the sheets at once.

Grace looked away, ashamed. "I don't know if I should tell you."

'_And why the fuck not!_' After enduring all the whining, all the stairs and long hallways, all the bare asses, I felt like I earned the right to know. Taking in a deep breath and another quarter glass of scotch, I gently took a hold of her hand and said, "You should feel free to tell me anything."

"But it involves your friend Katie."

"Then I _have _to know. If one of your friends did something hurtful to another one of your friends, wouldn't _you _want to know about it?"

"I guess," said Grace, hesitantly giving in. I nodded reassuringly and patted her hand as a sign that it was all right to continue. She opened her mouth, but it took a while before any words came out. "After you left to help the crispy burnt children, I went upstairs to talk to Katie…"

"Uh-huh."

"And I told her about how I was really upset that my mom is dating Eli's dad. And how horrible I was for being in love with Eli when Gavin's still technically my boyfriend. But then she told me that I can fuck whoever I want. And I was like 'fuck?' And then she found out that I was a virgin–"

"Whoa, whoa. Wait." I held up a hand to halt her fast-paced rambling. "Was?"

"Katie took advantage of me," she whispered, her eyes slowly watering.

I feigned shock. "She forced herself on you!"

Grace averted her gaze to the floor. "No… Not exactly. But it was like I couldn't defend myself."

"Why? Did she tie you up?"

"No!" She blushed at the idea. "She just has a way of _putting _things. Like, you can't think of an answer."

"Not even 'no'?"

"I kept on saying 'no' the whole time…" Her speech slowed as she started to realize how foolish she sounded. "But somehow, that wasn't what I was doing." Then, no longer able to keep what little composure she had left, she collapsed into my chest. "I'm so ashamed."

I placed a comforting hand on her head and cradled her like a mother. I recalled my first time at the tender age of thirteen. Looking back on it now, I admit that I had been too young. It was with a boy five years my senior. I had met him at a fund raiser Katie's mother had thrown. He was to begin enrollment at West Point, the prestigious U.S. military academy, that fall under the influence of his father and was exceedingly reluctant to go. He, Katie and I stole glasses of Champagne from tables and waiter's trays and even an entire case of it from the kitchen. We were to drink in honor of his departure, although we were just looking for a reason to get plastered. Katie ended up passing out, while we drunkenly fooled around beside her, having one drunken thing lead to another. He was the first of many to tell me that he loved me, and I can't even remember what he looked like. "You'll find the shame is like the pain. You only feel it once."

"So what should I do?"

"Do you really want my advice?"

"Yes! Please!"

"Well, first off, no sniveling." I pulled her off me. Her tears had already begun to soak through my $800 Chloé top, along with her snot. I made a mental note to throw it away as soon as I got home. "You had sex. Be happy. Many people would kill to be in your position, especially with someone as attractive as Katie." Grace opened her mouth to protest, but I held up a hand, commanding her to let me finish. "Furthermore, I insist you continue sleeping with Katie. Think of her as your tutor. Let her instruct you."

"But I don't love Katie. I love Eli."

"So? Don't you want to know how to make Eli happy when you guys finally _make love_?" I hated saying those two words. They were a bullshit euphemism for fucking.

"Yes," she admitted sheepishly, her tear-streaked face becoming redder.

"Well, practice makes perfect. And the only way to do that is to sleep with as many people as possible."

"But wouldn't that make me a slut?"

"Grace…" I gritted my teeth, holding back the hate I felt whenever anyone made an ignorant comment, especially when it was drawn from a notion as absurd as double standards. "Everybody does it. It's just that nobody talks about it," I managed to say matter-of-factly.

"Ohh… It's like a secret society."

'_What a fucking idiot._' I smiled. My teeth were beginning to file down from the pressure of clenching my teeth. "That's one way of looking at it."

"Cool!" Grace got up and left, but not without prancing in glee and repeatedly cheering, "Secret society, secret society…" She opened the door to one of the neighboring bedrooms and exclaimed, "Hello, fellow member!"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" a voice shouted back.

"Oh, yeah," she said, remembering that it was supposed to be a _secret_ society. She locked her mouth with an imaginary key then turned to me and mimed for me to stay silent.

I rolled my eyes and exhaled a deep breath. '_I need another Jack and Jack._'

------

The pool area was unusually deserted. Everyone, including Joanna, had gone into the pool house for body shots. Except for one. "Hey… I've been looking all over for you." Jessie sat by the edge of the pool. She had taken off her shoes and had rolled up the cuffs of her jeans, so that her feet could dangle in the water.

"Really?" The pool's underwater lights illuminated her face, and together with the movement of the water, it was as if she was sparkling.

I looked away and laughed abashedly. "No." I spread out my arms, as though I was attempting to hug the expanse of Tad's estate. "This place is huge! It would take me a day to cover even half the place." Then I whirled around and smiled at her with every iota of my sincerity and said, "But I'm glad that I found you." I began to take off my shoes and roll up the cuffs of my pants. "How's the water?" I asked. But before she could answer, I had already dipped my toe in. "Hmm," I said thoughtfully, judging its temperature with an exaggerated look of conceit. "It's tolerable." She playfully kicked some water onto my face. "Hey!" I wiped at my cheek with my sleeve. "I see you're feeling better."

"What do you mean?"

"Before– You said you needed to go to the bathroom. I thought you were going to–" I mimed someone gagging and added in a 'blech' for emphasis.

"Oh, no. Surprisingly, I can hold my alcohol," said Jessie, as if she could not believe it herself. "But it does make you want to pee a lot." I laughed in agreement, recalling the time when Tad had passed out during the after-party for cotillion and woke up the next morning with a huge yellow stain down the leg of his White Knight tuxedo. "Ew," she said, giggling. "I bet he never got his deposit back."

"I probably wasn't supposed to tell you that."

"I promise I won't tell," said Jessie, crossing her heart.

Suddenly there was a loud uproar of drunken merriment from the direction of the pool house. From where we sat we could see everyone had crowded around whoever was the body portion of the body shot and was egging on whoever was drinking in loud one syllable chants – another rite of the contemporary adolescent. It was a way to gain acceptance from the higher-ups of the tribe. As one of the higher-ups, I was expected to attend, and Jessie knew this. "Why aren't you joining them?"

I shrugged and watched my feet as they slowly treaded water. "I'm not into that kind of fare anymore."

"Oh, really?" asked Jessie, with partial disbelief.

"Nope… Not since a strong new influence entered my life."

"Has Katie Singer finally found God?" she teased.

"No." I looked at her and casually said, "Just you."

Jessie laughed. It was an awkward kind of laugh. A laugh that one makes when she doesn't know what else to say or how else she's supposed to react. And finally when she did manage to say something, it was, "Sure." She just said, "Sure."

"You don't even realize it, do you?" I let my feet be still. They looked closer and abnormally bent as though the water had caused them to deform. I pulled them out.

"Realize what?"

"You've changed me in a way that was thought impossible."

"What?" she asked with a nervous smile, half-thinking this was all a joke.

I stared ahead at the bushes hedged into a gate far at the other side of me, which separated the pool area from the rest of the estate. There was nothing but woods beyond them, so I wondered if they were there to keep things out or to seal us in, and suddenly I felt trapped. "Until I met you… I had only ever experienced desire. But _love?_ Never." It was becoming harder to breathe, but I didn't show it, except perhaps in the pauses I took in between words, but I spoke with a steady voice and at a normal volume, not afraid of what I said or if other people heard, not like they could. Although there were people around not more than ten yards away from us, they were all in their own little world as we were. As I was. "I thought that I had," I continued, thinking of Sarah and the way we were so much alike. It was as if we were someone who had been cut in half and subsequently grew into two separate beings. '_And that's supposed to count for something, right?_' "But I was wrong… Do you know why?" I was careful not to look at her. I could feel her eyes searing into the side of my head, dissecting for what I was getting at. "Because there was no pain… It wasn't until I met you; until I began to feel actual _physical _pain every time you left the room that it finally dawned on me." I inhaled deeply, preparing to cough out this foreign body that I had kept lodged in my throat for so long. I had been afraid of what would happen if I were to spit it out; expose it to the world, but the more I kept it inside, the more it ate away at me. It obstructed my breath, impaired my senses and infected my entire being. And it only grew worse when I was near her. I had to get rid of it. I had to finally expel it from my throat – "I love you."

"You love me?"

"Yes," I exhaled, finally free.

"Yes…" she said to herself as though it were a revelation. And as I leaned in to kiss her, I hoped that which infected me still lingered upon my lips so that I might pass it on to her. But before our lips could touch, she pushed me away. "No."

"No?"

"No!" she said hard so that she could have something sturdy to regain her balance on. "You can't. We can't–" she stumbled, still trying to catch herself. "I can't."

"He, she, it can't."

"I'm serious, Katie."

"So am I!" I stood up so that I could look down at her. "You think I'm telling you this just because I want to fuck you?" I began to pace to calm myself down. "I won't deny that when I first saw you, that's all I wanted to do with you. But when I got to know you…" I stopped and folded my arms, facing away from her. It felt easier to say it away from her. "I realized that your beauty, although greatly esteemed, is the _least _of your qualities. You are selfless and sincere and altogether kind, which are virtues that I had not found in any one soul before… And it is for that reason I am in love with you. And it is for that reason I have changed." I then knelt down beside her and looked at her solemnly. "For, you see… It's not that I want to have you. All I want is to deserve you." I took a hold of her hands. They felt as soft and delicate as they had seemed. No part of her could deceive. "So tell me what to do. Show me how to behave. I'll do anything you ask of me."

"I want you…" she whispered, her eyes beginning to close as I leaned in a second time. "To leave."

"What?"

And then she stood. Her balance finally regained. "You're good… You really caught me off-guard with the 'I love you,' even though that was the most expected line. But the 'Show me how to behave. I'll do anything you say' was a little much. You should think about cutting that out."

"No, Jessie, I–" I tried to gain equal footing, but Jessie insisted on shooting me down.

"And F.Y.I., listing my qualities on your fingers is not going to get you anywhere with me. The best you could hope for is my friendship. And you're really walking a fine line at that."

"Jessie…" Where were her hands? Where were her soft and delicate hands?

"I'll see you at rehearsal tomorrow," she said, sounding so far away. "Good night, Katie." And she was gone.

And for the first time in my life, I think my heart had actually broke. I didn't know what to do. I didn't understand. I was freaking out. I hurled a lawn chair into the pool. "FUCK!"

"Yes, please." Suddenly Joanna appeared by my side, reaching out a hand. It held a shot of tequila. "Body shot?"

I quickly downed the burning substance and smashed the glass into shards, hoping that they would cut into my feet because I was numb and I needed to feel something.

Joanna offered a lime in her mouth, and I caught it with my teeth then let it fall as I moved my lips to hers. She tasted like alcohol. She tasted like somebody else. Somebody else who wasn't _her_. I pulled away and grabbed her hand. "Let's go."

"I thought you'd never ask."

I needed something to feel. I needed something to do. I led her upstairs.

"Katie, wait!" I heard someone call behind me, but I had no time for that. '_Something to feel. Something to do._' Then there was a tug on my arm. A woman's hand. A tentative touch. It wasn't Joanna's. '_Somebody else… Her._'

I turned around. It was Grace. '_Saving grace,_' I thought bitterly.

"I was wondering…" she began, staring at the floor. Then, as if remembering what she was after, she awkwardly arched her back and flipped her hair. A few strands became stuck to her heavily glossed lips. "Do you want to get a room somewhere?" she tried to say seductively in a low voice, but came off sounding like an effeminate man.

"That's kind of what we're doing at the moment."

"Oh." She returned to staring at the floor, unsure of what to do next. "Well, then…" She looked up at us and asked simply, "Can I join you?"

I looked to Joanna. She shrugged indifferently.

"C'mon."

I needed something to feel. I needed something to do. '_And_ _the more to do, the more to feel…_'


End file.
